


Allez Viens

by leiascully



Category: British Actor RPF, Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bathtubs, Champagne, Dreams, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Fantasizing, Fingerfucking, Flirting, Lingerie, Masturbation, Pizza, Resolved Sexual Tension, Road Trips, S'mores, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Shower Sex, Sunbathing, Touching, Undressing, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt invites Alex to come to Spain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 6 March 2012

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hihoplastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/gifts).



> Timeline: filming of "A Town Called Mercy"  
> A/N: For hihoplastic, who wanted Matt & Alex and a road trip.  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction that bears no resemblance to and claims no knowledge of the people about whom it is written.

"Come with us to Spain," he said, something unreadable in his eyes. "Aren’t you off for the next few days? It’ll be more fun with you there. Team TARDIS, eh, the whole family."

"And what will I do while I’m there?" she asked with a laugh, pleasure warming her. It’s touching when they include her in their little group. And there’s something very special about the way Matt’s looking at her, as if they’re sharing a delicious secret. "I’m not in the episode, after all. I don’t even know if they’ll bring me in this go-round. Shall I go for coffee? Stand ready to blot any sweat from your brow? Pretend I’m one of your swooning fans and tell you how handsome you are and what a lovely job you’ve done? I think you’ve got enough people doing that, thanks. You don’t need me along."

"I want you along," he insisted. "Take a few days. You can sunbathe. Besides, nobody tells me I’ve done a lovely job like you do."

"I haven’t got a ticket," she told him, softening.

"We’ll rent a car," he said. "I’ll pay. We’ll get something a bit sporty. I’ve got a couch in my trailer - you can have the bed."

"Now who could turn down an invitation like that?" she joked.

"My question exactly," he said. "Come on, Kingston. The great Who road trip."

"Drive down through France?" she said dubiously. 

"I’m a good driver, Kingston," he told her. "You and me, out on the open road. What do you say?"

"All right," she said. "But only because I haven’t been sunbathing in an age. My bikini’s overdue for an airing."

"Hmm," was all he said, but he smiled.

All of which brought them to this moment, zipping through France, all the big roads with all the little cars. In the distance, she can see the foothills of the Pyrenees, an ascending haze, and outside the window there’s the occasional glimpse of a fort or a chateau. Matt lounges in the half-reclined passenger seat - it’s Alex’s turn to drive and anyway, she’s more used to the right side of the road. She likes the feel of the car, all that power subject to her whim. Some CD Arthur pressed on them is playing, soft music and a singer with a husky voice that rasps pleasantly in Alex’s ears. She sighs in contentment, one hand on the wheel and one hand on the gearshift.

"Thank you," she says. "For inviting me along." She glances at Matt and then back at the road. He’s oddly handsome in his t-shirt with its low v-neck, but then, he’s always oddly handsome. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses. A sliver of skin is visible at his hip when he shifts.

"Wouldn’t be the same without you," he says. "You know that."

She isn’t sure she does know that. ”We could all do with the sunshine. I’m not sure I can remember the last time I had a few days to myself. And this way I won’t feel guilty for not spending all my time tidying up and emailing my accountant.”

"Then I’m extra glad I managed to coerce you," he tells her. "Christ, Alex. There’s more to life than sorting laundry."

"Yes, well, sometimes I take reminding," she says, and smiles at him. "Lucky I’ve got you."

"So what color’s that bikini?" Matt asks.

"Wait and see," Alex teases him. 

"Looking forward to it," he says, and Alex blushes, just a little bit. He sounds as if he means it. She’s sure it’s only flirting - they’re always flirting. She can’t help herself around him. There’s something about that face and that voice and those eyes and the way he stands close to her, and besides, she likes to flirt. She always has. But it never means anything - surely that isn’t what he’s looking for, not with her. It’s just a natural extension of their personalities and their characters. Banter is how they communicate. It’s how they’ve always talked. 

"Maybe Kaz and Arthur will have bits to do without you and you can join me," she suggests. "Surely all that pale English skin could do with a bit of sunshine."

"I just might," he tells her. "Since you asked so nicely."

"If you’re very good, I’ll let you put sunscreen on my back," she says. 

"Then I’ll be on my best behavior," he says, and something in his voice sends a frisson through her. 

"Just mind that you don’t tip out the whole bottle," she says lightly.

He laughs. ”I might be clumsy as hell, but I’m good with my hands.”

She clicks her tongue. ”Oh, now, Mister Smith, that’s too far. I’m going to need references for that particular claim.”

"Wait and see," he teases. He reaches for his bottle of water and his hand brushes hers, accidentally-on-purpose, Alex thinks. Her arm tingles a little, and she feels a smile curling her lips. 

"I’ll hold you to it," she says.

"Hold me to anything you like," he tells her. 

"The things you say," she tells him, and they drive on, the road smooth under the tires, the thrum of the engine in Alex’s bones.


	2. 6 March 2012 - Soir

They stop for the night in Béziers, at a little place called the Hôtel des Poètes. Matt calls from the car to make a reservation after looking the place up on his phone, occasionally flashing a photo at Alex, who keeps her eyes on the road. His French is surprisingly good for someone she hadn't thought cared overmuch. His accent's not the best, but he's throaty enough for her ears, and his vocabulary is sufficient to the task. Although she notices that he only books one room, but then, she isn't driving to Spain to sleep in her own trailer. She might as well get used to his presence in the dark.

"Ten hours in the car is plenty," Matt announces, checking maps on his phone. "Ah. Turn here." 

"We should have taken the train," Alex says, more amused than irritated.

"Ah, Kingston, this is much more fun," he says. "On the train it's all earbuds and napping and people going past on their way to the loo. This way it's just you and me."

"Mm," she says. "You and me and Arthur's taste in music. A classic combination if there ever was one."

"I knew you'd see it my way," he says in a low voice, much huskier than the quip requires. 

"I wasn't aware that I was signing up for a threesome," she teases. 

He reaches out and turns off the radio. "There," he says into the silence of the car. "Now I've got you all to myself."

"And whatever will you do with me?" she asks, and yawns.

"Depends," he says. "I have only gotten us one room."

"I heard," she says, pulling the car into the garage and parking neatly. "As long as you haven't booked us a single bed."

"No," he says, and then eyes his phone with distrust. "Probably."

"A lovely preview of trailer life," she says. "What a wonderful holiday you've talked me into."

"A little trust," he tells her as he pulls their cases out of the car. "I promise you'll enjoy yourself. Think of the sunbathing."

"It's your own life you're taking into your hands if I don't get a good night's sleep," she jokes.

"And here I was planning on keeping you up late," he murmurs.

"Hush," she tells him. "Be a good boy and go and get our room sorted out."

"Er, bonsoir," he says to the concierge. 

"Bonsoir, monsieur," says the concierge in that particular service industry combination of cheery and bored. 

"Je suis Matt Smith." He puts a cute little French lilt on his name. "J'ai une réservation pour une chambre pour ce soir."

"Bien sûr, monsieur," says the concierge, and taps away at her computer. A few minutes later she hands him a key - room number 10, Alex notes, and more's the pity. "Allez tout droit - l'escalier est à gauche, et vous allez trouver la chambre dix au fond du couloir au premier étage."

"Merci," he says.

"À votre service, monsieur," the concierge trills, giving him a knowing look as she glances toward Alex, who is standing with the cases.

"She probably thinks we're having an affair," Alex murmurs as Matt makes his way back to her and takes his case with a smile of gratitude.

"Let her," Matt says. "Everyone needs a little thrill in their life."

"At least there aren't cameras," Alex says wryly. "You don't use a fake name?"

"Nah," Matt says. "Never really been a thing. Matt Smith's about as common as it gets."

"Oh, now," Alex says as they climb the stairs, "there's nothing common about you, Mister Smith."

The room is darling: clean and bright, and the bed isn't a single. They'll have a nice view in the morning, Alex thinks, although it's dark now. Matt sets down his case and stretches. Alex tests the edge of the bed - soft, but not too soft - and then stands up again. She doesn't want to sit at the moment. She can't imagine how Matt must feel, all those long limbs folded into the confines of the car.

"Now then," he says, looking around the room, peering into the loo and picking up the remote. "Dinner? There's a place nearby called L'Ambassade. They had a nice menu. I owe you a nice dinner. We'll get a bottle of champagne and eat tiny plates of seafood."

"To be honest," Alex says apologetically, because he looks so pleased with himself, "I'm dying for a bath, and I haven't got anything nearly nice enough to wear anywhere called L'Ambassade."

"I'll owe you one, then," Matt tells her, with a great deal more promise in his voice than the situation seems to merit. "If there's anywhere in Cardiff you fancy, some night you're free."

"I'll think long and hard about that one," Alex tells him, amused.

"Pizza?" Matt suggests. He runs his hands through his hair, looking oddly dashing. "There's always a pizza place around, isn't there?"

"It's a universal constant," Alex says.

He steps closer, brushes his hand against her waist, and reaches into her pocket for the car key. She left the rental tag dangling over the edge of the pocket, but he slips his fingertips in, just barely, and pulls the key out slowly. She feels the teeth of the key catching gently on the fabric of her pocket, snagging and then coming loose, scraping lightly against her skin. Bless France for its old-fashioned ways. Bless her jeans for their tightness. Bless Matt for his flirtatious ways, which make her feel, if not young again, more alive than she's been since the separation. A tingle dances along her spine as he smirks and leans in much closer than necessary. "You enjoy your bath," he murmurs, crowding into her personal space, which she finds she doesn't mind at all. "I'll go and find pizza."

"Yes," she says. "Yes, I'm certain I will."

The bath is perfect. The water's hot and the tub's just the right depth. Alex pours the little bottle of travel shampoo under the tap and steps into bubbles worthy of a movie star. She soaks the tension and stiffness of the day's drive out of her body. The towels are thick and soft and just as she's dried herself off and slipped into a tank top and pyjamas, Matt arrives with pizzas and a rakish grin.

"I couldn't resist," he says, producing a bottle of champagne from behind his back. "Nothing as nice as we would have had at the other place, but better than nothing, eh?"

"My hero," she tells him, reaching to take the bottle from him.

"Does that mean I earn a boon?" he asks.

"Depends on the quality of the pizza," she teases him. "Cups? Ah." She finds glasses on the sideboard and opens the champagne. Matt startles as it pops and grins at her. 

"Don't forget to look into my eyes," he says as she pours out champagne into the glasses and hands it to him. "Otherwise, seven years of bad sex, which is all I remember from talking to the exchange student."

"I'm sure it is," she says knowingly. "On the other hand, isn't any sex better than none?"

"Oh, Kingston, you're killing me," he says. "You're made for a better fate than that. Come on, look straight into my eyes." He gazes at her and she gazes back, meeting his challenge. His lips curl in a smile with more than a hint of mischief in it. She can feel her own smile deepening as she watches him. His hazel eyes are dark in the low light of the room. 

"À la santé," he says. "When in Béziers, after all."

"À la santé," she echoes. He clinks his glass against hers very deliberately, the rim lingering a fraction of a second longer than the custom. She brings her glass to her lips, still holding his gaze as she sips. It isn't the world's best champagne, true, but it's not half bad, and his presence improves it. After the drive, after the bath, after not having eaten much, the alcohol fizzes down her throat and straight into her blood, or that's how it feels. Her sense of warm well-being extends past her skin; it brushes against his skin, makes them part of the same sweet charged bliss. 

"Now," he says softly. "Pizza, booze, telly?"

"Definitely," she says, the champagne still sparkling through her. He seems to have an extra light in his eyes, an extra depth to his grin. He reaches past her for the remote and she only just manages not to lean into the curve of his arm. She ought to know better: she's extra-susceptible to a handsome face when she's as weary as this, and for all the oddness of his face, he did, at some point, become devastatingly handsome to her. It's an excellent thing when they're before the camera, going through the motions of epic romance, but perhaps less excellent when they're alone in a hotel room in a strange town, on their way to what nearly amounts to a busman's holiday. It's almost a relief when he turns on the television and she can turn her mind to puzzling through French.

They watch whatever's on, only half understanding, and eat pizza with plastic knives and forks and laugh at bad jokes and pretend they're not acutely aware of each other when the characters start shedding their clothes. They tacitly refuse to change the channel, because obviously there's no reason to change the channel, watching the whole slow seduction unfolding, resolutely not reaching out for anything but more champagne or another paper napkin. Matt goes for his own bath after and they negotiate for time to clean their teeth and then it's time for bed. Alex slides under the covers on her side of the bed, curling up moderately close to the edge. Matt hesitates.

"I usually just sleep in tracksuit bottoms," he says, his fingers plucking at the hem of his t-shirt. "But I can leave it on if it bothers you."

"It's fine," she says lightly. "I saw the bit where you were in a towel for the show. I won't be traumatized by your beauty or anything, if that's what you're worried about."

"I just want you to be comfortable, Alex," he says seriously.

She yawns and shifts her head on the pillow. "I'm quite comfortable. It's a nice bed." She looks at him. "It won't be strange unless you make it strange."

"That's the last thing I want," he says, and strips off his t-shirt in one smooth motion. She glances over his lean body, ignoring the little rush of warmth through her blood. The champagne wore off at least an hour ago; she can't go blaming it on the alcohol. She refuses to think about what else might cause a similar tingling. He clambers into the bed half-gracefully, his body hardly weighing down the mattress. She's half-glad and half-wistful that she won't be rolling into the hollow of his body in the middle of the night, and then scolds herself. She knows better. She could just as easily make it strange as he could.

"Good night, Kingston" says his voice in the dark.

"Sleep well," she tells him.

"Yeah," he says. "You too." 

Alex closes her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The hotel](http://hoteldespoetes.net/index.htm). [The restaurant](http://www.restaurant-lambassade.com/lapproche/) they almost went to. [The other restaurant](http://www.pizzamario.fr/carte-pizzamario.php). Merci à Amie33.


	3. 6 March 2012 - Minuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet dreams.

It takes Alex a while to fall asleep. She hasn't been in bed with anyone in longer than she'd like to admit, and she hasn't tried sleeping next to someone she wasn't, well, sleeping with in even longer. Matt doesn't move around as much as she would have imagined (or has imagined, which she admits to herself only in the dark). He's all restless energy during the day. Perhaps he's making a special effort to be still. 

It's cool in the room, but after a few minutes, her bit of the bed is warm, and she can feel a vague heat radiating off his bare skin. And it is so very bare - his pyjamas sit low on his hips, which makes the length of his torso even more absurd. Somehow all of this is enhanced by the fact that she's wearing a camisole. If she moved her shoulders back not-so-many inches, her skin would be against his. She wonders, just for a moment, if she could make it seem like an accident, if he would fit his body to hers. But she's too proud to try it, or too cowardly, or too sensible. It's funny, after all the times she's been in his arms onscreen that she can't just ease into them now, but then again, she's never been quite certain how far his flirtations extend. It's possible this is all a bit of a laugh for him. She isn't clear on how sharing a trailer might be amusing for him, but he's young and enamored of the actor's bohemian life. Perhaps she enhances his experience as the clever, seasoned older woman with terrible fashion sense and plenty of stories to tell. But at least he includes her. At least he asks her along. That's more than she's gotten from some of the men in her life.

Alex breathes in and out in the calm of the dark. Matt shifts a little and she tingles, momentarily aglow with the possibility that he's reaching out for her, but he doesn't touch her. He's close enough that she can feel the way the duvet rises and falls with the rhythm of his breathing, though, and the soft steady rhythm of it lulls her to sleep.

She dreams, of course, of him. They're on set, all alone. The cameras are dim and no one stands behind them. There's only the light from the bulb on the top of the TARDIS. The sound stage is deserted. It's eerily perfect, like American Halloween after the trick or treaters, or the hush of Christmas Eve.

"Alex," he says, in that husky voice that makes her knees wibbly. As River Song, she's supposed to be unaffected. As Alex, plain Alex in a vaguely floaty summer dress she might be too old to wear, she doesn't have to pretend. She tips her face up to him, studying the way the light falls over his cheekbones. He has the most remarkable face. She knows better than to think there's any face that can't become suddenly and devastatingly beautiful, but his is a special case. Sometimes he looks as if he was put together from the odds and ends of five or six other people, and sometimes he's so transfixing she can't look away. This time it's the latter: she gazes at him as if he's her anchor to the strange self-contained universe of the dream. It's every noir film, when the dame waltzes in and brings the history of the world with her. It's that scene from _Casablanca_. It's Romeo looking up at Juliet and seeing nothing but the light in her eyes, and oh, how Matt's eyes glow. 

"You came," he says. 

"Naturally," she tells him.

"I wasn't sure," he says.

"Well," she says lightly, "that makes two of us." 

"But we're here now," he murmurs. "What shall we do?"

"What we should always do, darling," she says. "Make the most of it."

"Is that what we always do?" he asks.

She says nothing, but holds his gaze. It isn't easy - his face is so open, so honest, and there's such naked desire there, and respect, and gentle amusement, and something that could, one day, become love. She might call it that now if the thought didn't scare the hell out of her. Her life is ordinary and this, whatever it is that's in his eyes, is anything but. She's seen it in the Doctor's eyes before, but always looking at River, never looking at her. It's astounding seeing it directed at her. Without the costumes, without the makeup, it's just her and Matt and god, she knows it's a dream, but it _feels_ real, all the way down to her bones. All the way down to the terrifyingly intense anticipatory delight that flutters in her stomach. All the way down to the half-painful way her heart thuds under her breastbone.

He leans down a bit, not quite far enough, and lifts her chin very gently with one finger. His lips ghost across her forehead. She sighs, but the sound of it is sweet. She feels settled in her skin, immensely present in the moment. His mouth glances over her eyebrow, the bridge of her nose, the apple of her cheek, the corner of her mouth. She shivers. He smiles down at her, only half-glimpsed - his face is too close to focus on. She can't help but smile back. His lips brush her jaw, her ear, her neck, her throat. She tips her head back and feels his hair tickling her collarbones. His cheek grazes her chest and she's glad for the low neckline of her dress as his skin moves over hers. There is no sound but the urgent hush of their breath and the thud of her pulse in her ears and the whisper of cloth. She has the fingers of one hand hooked through the belt loop of his jeans and the other hand fisted in his t-shirt, her knuckles resting against his stomach. She breathes in the scent of him, cedar and spice and the vaguest whiff of tobacco. 

He never kisses her, never properly kisses her, but his mouth traces paths on her body, reinventing her skin as a map of a new world. It's a cipher no one else can read. His fingertips stroke down her arms, feathering over her skin. His knees brush hers and she sighs again at the touch of denim against her skin. His mouth travels back up, taking the scenic route, ghosting over her skin. She feels the ley lines of her body, revealed by his touch, throbbing with power, connecting the two of them through any amount of space. When the tip of his nose rubs against hers, she whispers his name and feels her own breath against her mouth as it echoes off his skin. She parts her lips, hoping to taste him. His chin brushes hers as he moves closer; her wrists press into her ribs as she pulls at him. His nose slides against hers and she lets her mouth open a little wider, willing and eager to meet his. She has kissed him before and it was always delightful. After this, she thinks, nothing will be the same.

Alex wakes up with a start. Her heart pounds. She sits up. Matt is sleeping peacefully next to her, flat on his back with his face tucked into the crook of his arm The moonlight silvers the edges of the curtains. Everything is peaceful, and she's wide awake.

God, she's in need of a cold shower, except that it would probably be agony. Every nerve she's got is oversensitive. She can hardly stand the feel of her clothes against her skin. She licks her lips and it nearly overcomes her.

She looks over at Matt again. His face in repose is odd, all chin and forehead and shadows, but the sight of him still has her heart thudding. She climbs carefully out of bed and goes into the washroom. She finds a washcloth and deliberately soaks it in cool water, wiping her face and her collarbones with slow firm strokes. What she'd really like at the moment is a stiff drink and a waterproof vibrator, but she hasn't got any prospect of either of those things, and the though of Matt waking and stumbling to her aid only to find out that she wasn't screaming for any awful reason is too much to contemplate.

"Steady on, Alexandra," she mutters to herself. "It was only a dream."

After a bit, she's pulled herself together enough to wring out the cloth and turn out the light. She pads back across the room and crawls carefully back into the bed next to Matt. He mumbles but doesn't seem to wake up. Alex can still feel herself gravitating toward him, as if his body tugs at hers, but she lays down resolutely with her back towards him. She pretends not to notice that she's eased away from the edge of the bed, that she can occasionally feel his shoulder grazing her arm if he moves in his sleep. She breathes deeply and evenly until she feels the darkness drifting in at the edges of her consciousness. She sinks into the darkness with a sigh and a smile, and sleeps soundly, her face pressed into her pillow.


	4. 7 March 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From France to Spain.

The purr of Alex's alarm wakes her and she rolls over. Sleep lets go slowly, and for a moment, she doesn't question the warmth of someone else's body pressed to hers. She opens her eyes just a little and there's a bare shoulder, and it takes another long minute for her to realize that's rather out of the ordinary. She blinks and glances up and Matt's looking at her, hazel eyes amused.

"Morning," he says.

"Morning," she says. 

"Slept well?" he asks, not moving away from her.

"Well enough," she says. "Thanks."

"Good," he says. "Glad to hear I haven't ruined your holiday yet."

"No," she says, smiling at him, because this ought to be so much more awkward than it is, but somehow his ridiculous small talk is making it okay. "Not yet. But I'm afraid I'll have to lay first claim to the bathroom, or else it might be ruined." She pushes her hair out of her face. "I've got to remedy this situation, for a start."

"Oh, come on," he says. "You look fantastic."

"Yes, nothing flatters like bedhead," she says wryly, sitting up.

He grins at her. "I like it. You should wear that look more often."

"I know they do a complimentary breakfast here, but I wasn't aware that there was complimentary flirting as well," Alex quips, climbing out of bed, acutely aware of the way her camisole clings to her hips. 

"I can be as complimentary as you like," he says, lounging in the bed. "And you can be extremely free with me."

"It's too early for puns," Alex says with a groan, dragging her case into the washroom.

When she comes out, dressed, her hair pulled back and just a touch of makeup on, Matt's pulling on his jeans. He has his back to her, so she takes a moment to admire him as he gives a little hop and does up the button. How one lanky man manages to make ridiculously slim jeans and faded t-shirts look so good is a mystery to her, but she supposes lanky young men have been doing just that since t-shirts and jeans were invented. He turns and smiles at her, ducking his head a little so that his hair falls over his forehead.

"Breakfast?" he asks. "And then we'll get out of here."

"Lead the way," she tells him.

Breakfast is in the lovely, sunny dining room with its pretty view of the park. The trees and the grass are just greening here, and it's all very peaceful. They eat croissants with delicious jam and drink strong coffee with plenty of milk. It's very French and very nice, though Alex honestly can't remember the last time she had breakfast with a man she wasn't married to, which is a bit sad. But she lets the sunlight warm her and sips at her coffee and banishes any sad thoughts. She's on holiday with her handsome costar, off to meet up with their other costars, who are very lovely if a bit silly, and she's going to soak up a bit of sun and drink sangria. 

They pack up and check out and drive on. There's another CD from Arthur to listen to, more of the same. Matt takes his turn behind the wheel. He drives better than Alex had expected, honestly, handling the steepening roads with relative ease. He's put on his sunglasses and when Alex glances over, he looks almost like a photograph of himself: unreachable and cool, young and hip and sexy. Maybe she ought to get a pair like that. 

"Are you going to be back this series?" he asks out of nowhere.

"I hope so," she says. "After all, we're married now, aren't we? It would be a shame not to have the Doctor's wife around."

"I know a spoiler when I hear one," he says, flashing her a quick look behind the dark lenses of his glasses. 

"Maybe," she says, taunting him just a bit. "It's possible we'll see each other soon."

"Possible or probable?" 

"I couldn't possibly say," she tells him, just a bit smug.

"Oh, keep your secrets, Kingston," he says. "But tell me this: is there kissing? And if not, how much would I have to bribe Moff to write some in?"

She laughs. "I honestly don't know the answer to that one, darling. Either one."

"Damn," Matt says. "Ah, well. Maybe we'll get married again. Alternate timeline - hardly counts. Best do it over."

"You just want to do three takes of kissing again," she teases him, and briefly she remembers last night's dream and the breathless brush of his lip across her skin. She looks out the window so he doesn't see her blush.

"It was a highlight," he admits. 

"It certainly was," she says, and they both fall silent for a bit. The hills are getting steeper. They're definitely in the mountains now. It's spring in the foothills, but still snowy at the peaks. They could ski, if they had the time. If Karen and Arthur were here, she suspects they'd have a snowball fight, a few terrifying moments as Matt nearly broke something falling, and quantities of boozy hot chocolate. But it's off to work they go, or at least off to work for Matt, to do an episode which will involve absolutely no kissing, and no River. Which is a pity, really - she's already got that Western outfit she wore in Utah, when there was definitely kissing.

"Penny for your thoughts," he says, easing the car into a lower gear as they climb. 

"Oh," she says. "Kissing, I suppose. Everyone's always asking about it in interviews."

"My sister called me to ask if we had something going on," he says. "After the wedding episode."

"So did mine," Alex says wryly. "She said it looked as if we'd been practicing and why hadn't I told her before. And then she asked if it was strange sticking my tongue down the throat of a man half my age."

"Not quite accurate," he protests.

"No," she says fondly, "but nearly. Anyway, I told her that it wasn't any of her business beyond being on national television, but that no, it wasn't strange at all, it was lovely."

"It _was_ lovely," he says. 

She remembers kissing him for that episode: the heat of the lights and the way she'd almost forgotten by the third take that there were lights at all, Arthur laughing, the roughness of the Doctor's tweed jacket, the way the bow tie felt still wrapped around her hand. She'd already known that her body fit well against his - somehow there's always an excuse for the Doctor and River to touch. She's glad that all of this took place with Matt instead of David; it would have felt strange, she thought. Matt is _her_ Doctor, babyface and all. There's a special spark between them on screen, something that hadn't been struck the same way with David. She's not sure she would have wanted to stick her tongue down David's throat. Meanwhile, when she watched the episode, she held her breath the same way when she saw the kiss as she had when she was being kissed, waiting for his lips to close the last inch of distance, waiting for their embrace to start time ticking again. Even her daughter had given her a thoughtful look after that, though she hadn't said anything, for which Alex was very slightly grateful. She wasn't certain how to explain the thing that existed between her and Matt. It was a non-thing, an improbability. He dated models his own age. He wasn't in the market for her, with her mismatched clothes and her un-skinny jeans and her long history. But the kissing had been memorable. Extremely memorable.

"Maybe we should practice," he says, his voice light. "I mean, if everyone thinks we're practicing."

"What, just to make sure?" she teases. "In case we've forgotten how by the next episode? Which is not a spoiler - I've really no idea."

"It would be unprofessional not to," he says solemnly. 

"Anything in the name of professionalism," she murmurs. 

"I knew you'd see it my way," he tells her. 

"At that rate, we might as well practice for the post-coital scene for the DVD extras," she jokes. "After that First Night/Last Night bit, who knows how far it will go?"

"Now you're really thinking," he says. 

"Mostly of how many hands you had," she tells him.

"At least it was memorable," he jokes. "I like to leave an impression."

"I'm sure you do," she says. 

They talk about work for a while, this and that, what she's doing when she's not with Who, what his plans are for the future. Alex drives for a bit. It's a longer way than either of them have gone by car in a while, but he's right, it is nicer that it's just the two of them. They stop for lunch at a place called Botavara in L'Ampolla, Spain, which is on the Mediterranean and just lovely. It's warmer than France and much warmer than Wales, and Alex relaxes. Funny how sunshine makes everything so much brighter, literally and metaphorically. She's feeling very cheery, even though she's a bit weary.

"Push on, or stop for the night somewhere along the way?" she asks as they get back into the car.

"What do you think?" he asks. 

"Might as well soldier on," she decides. "It'll be nicer to be there, even if it does mean a trailer bed tonight."

"It's a decent bed," he says. 

"I'm sure I'll know that for myself soon," she says with a wink. "Close quarters with you for the better part of two weeks - dear oh dear, what have I let myself in for?"

"It won't be as bad as all that," he says. "Last night was fine, wasn't it?"

"Of course," she says. "I'm only teasing, darling."

"Tell you what," he says. "If you get too fed up with me, I'll get you a hotel room. Deal?"

"I'm sure it won't come to that," she tells him. "Although I'm sure it would be nice to have a proper bathtub."

"Sea bathing," he teases. 

"Yes, but has the sea got jets?" she asks. 

"I'll find you some," he promises.

"Aren't you the resourceful one?" she marvels, merging onto the highway.

"Oh, Kingston, you have no idea yet," he says.

"You'll have plenty of opportunity to prove it over the next week," she tells him.

"I look forward to it," he say, and it sounds like a delicious promise.


	5. 7 March 2012 - Soir

Ten hours of driving is definitely more than enough. The last few hours Matt drives and Alex ends up fielding texts from Karen. She wasn't going to touch his phone, but he insists after the first five or six increasingly insistent buzzes.

"Smith how far out are you," says the first text. "Ooh have I got a surprise for you," says the second. "A nice surprise," says the third. "Not that kind of surprise you twit," says the fourth. "That is much TOO nice a surprise for YOU," says the fifth, and the sixth assures him that "Arthur says to tell you a really nice surprise."

"Tell her I'll believe it's nice when I see it," Matt directs Alex, and she types away, pleased that he isn't trying to text while he's driving on the other side of the road. 

The phone buzzes. "Shut up when are you getting here?"

"How much farther is it?" he asks, and Alex checks the map app on her phone.

"An hour," she tells him.

"Are you starving? I'm nearly starving," he says. Alex's stomach gurgles. 

"Definitely," she says. 

"Tell Kaz to find us a place for dinner," he says, and Alex dutifully texts away, adding a "please and thank you" to the end of the message.

"You're not Matt," comes the reply. "Who is this?"

Alex laughs. Matt glances at her. It's dark enough that he's not wearing his sunglasses anymore. She likes being able to see his eyes. It makes him look so much less inaccessible, not off away on some planet of cool young people. Certainly there is a large part of him that is that devil-may-care hipster, but he's also her clumsy, earnest, hard-working friend, and he looks more like that person when she can see more than her own reflection when she gazes at him. She remembers how it felt to need the sunglasses when she went out, to shield herself from the world. She remembers how much she needed people she could be herself with as well. He looks at her and she feels the weight of his mobile in her hand, Kaz's text buzzing again, unanswered.

"What?" he asks.

"She knows I'm not you," she tells him. "Demanding to know who on earth I might be. You did tell them I was coming along, didn't you?"

"May have forgotten to mention it," he mumbles. 

"Hmmm," she says. "There goes the Scottish rumor mill, churning away."

"I wanted you all to myself," he says. "Selfish, I know."

"I'm sure there's enough suncream to go around," she teases him. "Besides, Karen will need some herself."

"Tell her I've got my own surprise, then," he says, and Alex texts it.

"FINE," Kaz texts back. "Dinner at El Rincon de Basi at 9. DON'T BE LATE." A few seconds later there's another text, which just reads "TAPAS!!!!", and Alex laughs again.

"She's very keen on tapas, apparently," she explains to Matt.

"As she should be," he says, one hand draped across his thigh as he steers with the other. He's gotten very casual as the kilometers have rolled away behind them. It's appealing, she admits. 

"Surprises all around," Alex says.

"Whatever they've got can't be as nice as you," Matt tells her.

"Why, Mister Smith," she says, "you do know the old saying about flattery?"

"No," he deadpans, "tell me?"

"Ridiculous," she murmurs, and he smiles to himself as he drives. 

The restaurant isn't easy to find, but it's worth it. Karen's face lights up when she sees Alex, and she squeals so loudly that the entire restaurant looks over. Even Arthur sweeps her up in a hug. Karen punches Matt on the shoulder as they're shown to their table.

"That's for forgetting to say anything," she says. 

"Look, I only just managed to talk her into it as it was," Matt tells her. "If she'd known she'd be required to see you lot, well...dealbreaker."

"Nonsense," Alex says warmly, patting Arthur's arm. "They know I love them. They're my parents, after all."

"That's right," Karen says, filling her glass with wine. "More than you've got going for you, Smithers."

"How are you?" Arthur asks Alex as Karen and Matt bicker cheerfully.

"Good, good," she says. "You?"

"Aside from the earache," he says, "not bad."

"I thought there was another surprise," Alex says, sipping at her wine. "Or was the surprise tapas? Because I have to say that's not terribly surprising for Spain."

"Oh, no, there's a surprise," Arthur says. "But I'd better let Kaz tell it." He leans over and nudges Karen. "Oi. Moonface. Surprise?"

"Yes!" she says. "So. They didn't end up getting the trailers over here, so they've rented us a villa instead. On the beach, even. A villa! A bedroom each, with a private bathroom, so basically heaven, even if they're putting a few of the crew in the other bedrooms. I saw the photos - there's a pool and a hot tub. And it's on the beach, did I mention?" She bounces a little in excitement.

"I think we're probably going to be working," Arthur points out patiently. "Also, it's a bit cold for much swimming, and you hate the sun."

"I don't either," Karen says. "I just prefer the not-sun." She preens. "And it's never too cold for swimming. A little chill is good for you - braces you right up. You haven't lived until you've gone all blue in the sea."

"Scottish," they all say at the same time, and Karen scowls. 

"Anyway. Good surprise?" she asks.

"Definitely," Matt says. "Although I'm sure Alex is gutted to have to pass up my offer of my trailer bed."

"Yes, nothing like a glorified campbed," Alex says, raising one eyebrow at him. "But I'm not hearing anything about a lilo or a sofa bed."

"One of the rooms has a king," Karen says dismissively. "You two can take that one. I mean, there's hardly anything to him. Surely you can find a way to share."

"And here I thought you were going to suggest that you and I double up," Alex says, laughing.

"Some of us need our beauty sleep," Karen says, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. "I require a whole bed for that. But there's no hope for that one. Anyway, trailer bed, did I mention? This is definitely an upgrade."

It is without question an upgrade, as they discover when they finally leave the restaurant, after several carafes of wine and what seems like innumerable plates of tapas. Alex drives them - she had less wine than the rest to start with, and she's been driving the longest. It all feels very jolly to have the three of them piled into the car with her, as if the rest are actually on holiday as well. Matt and Arthur are crammed into the tiny back seat, and they've got the sunroof open and the windows down, and Karen is singing loudly. They pull up to the gate and Alex puts in the code that Karen gives her. They'll have their privacy out here, it seems, which is probably for the best. Matt and Arthur are bickering about Shakespeare in the back, and Karen's drowning them both out with football anthems. Alex parks in front of their villa. It's a lovely place, really, lots of pale stone, and the rooms are quite spacious. They seem to be the only ones there so far - probably everyone else is still out at the sets, getting things put together so that the actors can start in the morning. Alex drags her case into Matt's room. There's a very nice view of the sea, and more than a hint of salt in the air. 

Alex opens the French doors and breathes deeply. The water is dark, but the crests of the waves glitter. After the drive and the food and the wine and the delightful company, she's exhausted but happy. Watching the waves leave white foam on the beach is the perfect end to her day. The susurration of the sea whispers in her ears and the salt breeze toys with her curls. She leans on the little balcony and gazes out over the water. For the first time all day she feels still, as if she's reached some sort of equilibrium. It's all very peaceful. There's the noise of shoes on the stone floor behind her and then Matt joins her. 

"Sorry," he says, bracing his forearms on the railing. His elbow brushes hers. Neither of them move away.

"For what?" she asks, not looking at him. "It feels like a proper holiday now."

His hip knocks gently into hers. "This is a much nicer place to sunbathe."

"Don't worry," she tells him. His thigh presses against her body, just a little bit, as if he can't help himself leaning in. It's cool enough that she appreciates the warmth of his body and the shelter he makes for her against the breeze. "I'll still come and watch you work. How could I resist?"

"Speaking of watching," he says. "The closet's got mirrored doors."

"Much fancier than the trailer," she says gravely. "Have you even got a mirror in that thing?"

"Dunno," he says. "I try not to look. Terrifying, this face."

"Oh, now," she says, "I won't have that." She gazes at him, although he's so close she nearly has to lean back. "It's quite a handsome face, really. I think you should be kind to it."

"Now who's flattering?" he teases.

"Yes, and look where it's got me," she says with a smile. "I must have done a very good job."

"I really will go and find something to sleep on," he tells her. "A house this big ought to have a lilo or a futon or something."

"Nonsense," she says briskly. "That bed's enormous. Much too big for one. The world didn't end last night."

"No, it didn't," he agrees.

"I'm not shy," she tells him. "It isn't going to fluster me, you know, sleeping next to you. And I'm not, oh, misled by your flirting, or however you might want to put it. I had rather have a fool to make me merry and all that."

"Misled?" he asks. 

She gives him a look, hampered a bit by the darkness, but she's had plenty of practice with the You and I Both Know Better face over the years. "You're not looking for a bit of May/December really," she says. 

"First of all, May/August at most," he says. "And that's the outer limit I'll grant you. You've got loads of time until December. And second of all, who says I'm not?"

She smirks at him. "It seems like a bit too much work," she says, letting her body settle against his, because after all two can play, "inviting me on holiday and enduring twenty hours in the car just for a shag. Surely you don't usually have to try so hard." The pressure of his hip against hers reminds her briefly and vividly of last night's dream, and she bites her lip against the bloom of heat that spreads through her body. "It's all right, Matthew. I rather like being your friend."

He stares down at her for a long moment, his eyes enigmatic in the dim. There's something there she can't read. Her heart pounds, sending warmth to every part of her body. Oh, she's lying through her teeth - friendship is definitely pleasant, but she has a growing certainty that more of him (all of him, oh, definitely every last inch of him) would be even better. Or maybe it's the wine, and the way his knee rested against hers at dinner, and the sea, and the outline of him against the stars, and a sunny bright room with perfect croissants, and the hours of small talk that somehow weren't awkward at all, and the solid shape of him next to her in the middle of the night. There's an ache in her heart as she considers the last few days, and it's both pleasant and painful. 

"There are friends and then there are friends," he says at last, brushing a curl away from her face. 

"There are benefits and then there are benefits," she teases. 

"You and me," he says. "We don't have a chance to spend time together. It's always work. I wanted to see what it might be like."

"The same as it ever was, I imagine," she says. 

"It is and it isn't," he says mysteriously. 

"Enjoying yourself?" she asks.

He slips an arm around her and pulls her closer - it's gotten cooler as they've been standing out here. "Definitely. You?"

"It isn't often that a handsome young man invites me anywhere these days," she says lightly. "Of course I am."

He snorts. "Consider this an open invitation."

"You're far too kind," she says.

"I'm not any kinder than you deserve," he tells her, his face wry.

She leans against him, easing one arm around his waist. Whatever her expectations, it's pleasant to stand with him, arms around each other. They stood like this on the pyramid set, after the wedding, after the kisses. She remembers the way his laughter shimmered through her. They could never stop laughing - after each take, after they broke apart, they'd just look at each other, grinning, bubbling over with delight. Perhaps there was some magic in the air that night. Perhaps some trace of it still lingers. She's smiling now, although it's a quiet happiness.

Matt sighs and kisses the top of her head, almost absently, as if he's done it a thousand times before. She rubs his back and the gesture's nearly automatic. Their bodies have been rehearsing this, perhaps, while their minds were otherwise occupied - it all feels so very natural.

"Thank you," she says after a while, lulled by the slosh of the sea. "For inviting me. For thinking of me. For wanting me along. I'm not ungrateful. It's much nicer with you lot than learning lines in my flat."

"I always want you along," he say. "You belong here."

"I'll be sure to tell my landlord," she jokes.

"With us," he says. "With me. You're always welcome with me."

"Thank you, darling," she says. 

"The flirting," he says, and she leans a little more deeply into him, soaking up the quiet rumble of his voice. "I'm not leading you - that is, I'm not misleading you. It's just...it's just you and me. You walk into a room and things happen."

"I didn't mean it that way," she says.

"You said it that way," he reminds her. 

"I know," she says. "But you're right - it isn't any sort of game. It's just us."

"Alex and Matt," he agrees. "Off on another mad spree of flirting."

She laughs softly. "And when Karen is telling you you're too flirty, that's really something."

"Yes, we're quite something," he says. 

"Definitely." She yawns, rubbing her face against his chest. "Oh, dear. I think it might be time for bed." She steps back, wrapping her own arms around herself to compensate for the loss of his warmth. "I've got quite a long day of sunbathing planned tomorrow, after all."

"Well," he says in a voice that she doesn't think he intends to sound quite so seductive, but then again, he had his own share of wine at dinner. "After you, Ms Kingston." The look that accompanies it is a flicker of heat even in the dim of the starlight, like a candle in a dark room leaning in a sudden breath of air.

"Oh dear, things do happen, don't they?" she teases.

He chuckles softly. "That remains to be seen." He tilts his head and gives her a fond smile. "I'll be in in a bit."

She goes in and changes in the lovely bathroom with its warm light. She takes her time washing her face and cleaning her teeth. When she comes out, he's still on the balcony, silhouetted against the stars. She pushes back the duvet and slips into bed, checking her phone before she sets it on the bedside table. He comes in after a moment and closes the French doors, turning out the lights as he crosses the room. He's much quicker in the bathroom than she is, despite the fact that he comes out with damp hair and the smell of soap clinging to his skin. He's bare-chested again. She watches him through her eyelashes as he eases under the duvet, apparently trying not to wake her. She lets her eyes drift open.

"Sorry," he whispers.

"I wasn't asleep yet," she whispers back. 

He smiles. "You didn't have to wait up for me."

"I wouldn't," she says, and for a moment, there's an echo of old hurts. "Sorry. That was a little bit bleak."

"I'm sorry for the rest of it," he says. 

"It wasn't your fault, darling," she reassures him. "You had nothing to do with any of it."

"Still," he says. 

She eases her hand over his where it lies on his pillow and squeezes his fingers gently. "That's all over now. And this is better."

His eyes search her face. "Well. I'm glad." He seems on the verge of saying something more, but she closes her eyes. They've talked enough tonight, and he needs to sleep. He'll have a early morning of it. Her hand stays where it is, resting comfortably on top of his. The bed is rather large, but their arms make a bridge across it, a connection, a passageway for all the things that haven't been said. She falls asleep still touching him, with the lullaby of the sea in her ears and her lungs, cocooned in the warmth of the duvet and his kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voilà, the [villa](http://www.tripadvisor.com/VacationRentalReview-g187429-d2450770-Villa_Almanzora-Almeria_Costa_de_Almeria_Province_of_Almeria_Andalucia.html) and the [restaurant](http://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g187429-d2078111-Reviews-El_Rincon_de_Basi-Almeria_Costa_de_Almeria_Province_of_Almeria_Andalucia.html), just in case anyone ever plans a vacation based on this story ;)


	6. 8 March 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day in Spain.

Alex wakes up in the middle of the night, just for a moment, and realizes Matt's nose is pressed against the nape of her neck, and he's got one long arm slung over her waist. She could move, but he's warm, and it's chilly in the room. She relaxes back against his body and he murmurs something wordless. She drifts back off to sleep, and when she wakes up again, with the sun pouring into the room, they're back on their opposite sides of the bed. He stretches, stirring the duvet, and she tugs at her camisole, which has shifted enough to be nearly indecent. Fortunately, her own skin has never unsettled her much. 

"Morning," she says.

"Mm," he grumbles. 

"Oh, now, no call for that," she chides gently. "Spain, darling. Sunshine. Sangria."

Matt's mobile buzzes and he grabs for it before it falls off his bedside table.

"Kaz says breakfast," he says, hanging partway off the bed.

"I doubt she's bringing it to you in bed," she says, sitting up and swinging her feet off the bed. The stone floor is cool under her feet. She pulls a dressing gown out of her case and tugs it on, slipping her phone in the pocket. Alex heads for the bathroom and leans against the frame. "I'll be down in a mo'." 

"I don't mind waiting," Matt says, dashing sleep from his eyes. He stretches again. "Probably better put on something other than this, anyway, or they'll get the wrong ideas."

"Or the right ideas," Alex says with a wink, and closes the door behind herself. Two can flirt, after all. She visits the toilet, washes her hands, sponges off a bit, and cleans her teeth. She was too tired to bother taking off her eyeliner last night, but it looks all right, even after she splashes her face with a bit of water. It isn't as if it matters much - she just prefers not to look as if she's auditioning for the part of a raccoon. 

When she comes out, Matt takes his turn, and she waits for him - it seems only polite. She changes out of pyjamas into the long-awaited bikini while she's waiting and puts the dressing gown back on over it, tying the sash loosely. There's not much point in showering until after her swim, anyway. She digs through her case, trying to figure out what she might need and what she might want to put away, given the prospect of several days and plenty of storage space. Before long, Matt emerges, lanky as ever in jeans and a sweater, and she's quietly amazed again at the transformation Wardrobe and Makeup effect on him. He's just another twenty-something until he slips on the tweed. He pauses and gives her a look that positively smolders, and goodness, it's far too early for that, but she'd be happy to fall back into the bed and draw him down on top of her. She ignores the little voice in her head that says it's absolutely _never_ too early for that and Alexandra, what are you thinking?

"I like your dressing gown," is all he says.

She glances down and realizes that the gown is open halfway down her front. "Well. I was going to make you wait, but there isn't much point now." She tugs at the sash and lets the gown fall all the way open before she reties it more snugly. "A little preview for you. I told you I owned a bikini."

"Definitely a reason to wrap early," he says. 

"As quick as you can," she teases. "A girl can only take so much sun." 

"It'll be the quickest ever," he promises.

"How disappointing," she says, giving him a onceover in return.

He groans. "Point, Kingston. One-nil." He shakes his head as she saunters toward him. "How you can banter like that before coffee, I'll never know."

"Years of training," she says cheerfully. 

"I'll be a match for you one of these days," he grumbles. 

"In your very wildest dreams," she tells him.

"Two-nil," he says, and follows her down the stairs. Karen and Arthur are breakfasting in another sunny dining room on coffee and tea and rolls and some tasty little biscuits. They look so genuinely delighted to see Alex. She grins at them as she sits down. Matt slumps into another chair and pours himself coffee. 

"Ah, our little ray of sunshine," Arthur says to Karen.

"Cheer up, Smithers," Karen says. "You spent the night with a beautiful woman. You get to spend the day with another beautiful woman. And Arthur - he's all right."

"Thanks ever so," Arthur says dryly, pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Wardrobe's going to hate us," Karen says, picking up another roll and spreading it with butter. "Ah, well, sod 'em."

"That's the spirit," Arthur says, but he takes another few biscuits to dip into his tea.

"Your little raincloud act is almost cute," Karen tells Matt, "but clear up, or I'm going to start chucking things at you."

Alex glances over at Matt. He'd only seemed tired before, not grumpy, but he's a little dour now.

"Be nice to have some time to actually enjoy Spain," he says. 

Karen glances at Alex knowingly. Alex pretends not to notice. "Well, get that face in order, Matty," Karen tells him sternly. "Or I won't invite you to my secret party."

"What party?" he asks, drinking his coffee and reaching for the biscuits. Alex pushes the plate closer and ignores another of Karen's looks. 

"My _secret_ party," Karen says, rolling her eyes. "Obviously."

"Obviously," Arthur echoes. He and Karen share a look that's clearly a conversation along the lines of _oh was there a party? / well there is now_. Matt sits up and dips his biscuits in his coffee and reaches out one long arm for a roll. There's a knock at the door and the driver comes in, looking around the room expectantly, and Matt has to take his roll with him, and down his coffee. He looks at Alex for a moment before he leaves and she almost thinks he's going to lean down and kiss her on the cheek, but instead he just brushes his fingertips across her shoulder. 

"Save me a little sunshine," he murmurs.

She nods, feeling a delicious shiver run down her spine. "Of course," she says lightly.

"Matt!" Arthur calls. "We need you."

"See you later," Matt says.

"I'm not going anywhere," Alex says.

She finishes breakfast alone. Whoever of the crew are staying here were long gone, much earlier than the actors, and it seems she's got the place to herself. She goes back up the room for a bit, to check her email and talk to her daughter. She leaves her dressing gown and finds a towel and a book and takes it all down to the pool and lies in the sunlight, luxuriating in the warmth. It's not particularly hot, but it's much warmer than Cardiff, and much brighter. She soaks up all the light until she's warmed through to her bones and her book has gotten really good, and then it's time for lunch. She finds a container of obviously homemade seafood soup in the fridge along with a salad of marinated asparagus. There's a loaf of crusty bread on the table. The washing up from breakfast has been done by someone and the dishes gleam by the sink. 

She could definitely get used to this.

After lunch, she has a nap, and then a bit more sun, and then she tests the waters of the pool. It's still colder than she'd like, but much better than the morning. And the chill keeps her from thinking of Matt, nearly, in a way that the lazy sensuality of lying in the sun definitely did not. If it hadn't been for the fact that she's sharing the bed with him, she might have resolved some of her frustration in a very traditional way: it's only been two days and a bit in his close proximity, but it's definitely having an effect on her. Well, he always has - it's one of the reasons they play together so well on screen - but it's worse now, or better, depending on her point of view from moment to moment, like a slow-acting poison that builds up in her body the longer she spends with him, until she's half-dizzy. Only instead of a poison, it's hormones, which might or might not be classified as toxic, depending on the circumstance. 

Alex swims slow laps back and forth. Her bikini isn't exactly made for more than paddling. But she makes the most of it, and manages to tire herself out a bit before the chill catches up to her.

"Shower," she say to herself, mostly to stop her teeth from chattering. She wraps up in a towel and rubs her skin briskly, trying to warm herself up. If Matt weren't filming...but he is, so she cuts off that train of thought, trying to forget how the warmth of him radiated through her body in the middle of the night.

"Snap out of it, Alexandra," she tells herself. It'll be dark soon, or at least soonish, which means that filming will probably stop, which means that all of the rest of them will be back and noisy and ready to drink and quite possibly preparing for Karen's secret impromptu party, and if she's very, very lucky, Matt will give her another of those looks with embers in them, and she won't have to worry about being cold all evening.

Spain was definitely a good decision. She'll have to figure out how to express her thanks properly at some point. For now, she's going to get clean.


	7. 8 March 2012 - Soir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex cleans up for Karen's secret party.

It seems funny to go from pool to bath, but Alex can't resist a nice tub. Besides, she's cold enough to need a good soak. She runs the tub full and frothy and rinses her bikini in the sink in the meanwhile, hanging it up to dry. It's rather domestic, having her semi-delicates draped over things, but if Matt can't handle that (and no doubt come up with a few choice things to say besides), the sofa looked plenty comfortable. 

Alex eases herself into the hot water and relaxes with a sigh. It takes a few minutes for her teeth to stop chattering, but the tub is perfect. She rests her head on the pillow attached to the tub and lets herself drift in the water. Her thoughts drift too, from the sunshine to work to the holiday feel of Spain to the reason for her holiday. Matt, who flirts with her all day and curls up close to her at night, but whom she still can't quite figure out.

As she warms up, her thoughts heat up too. She can't stop thinking about Matt. Two days and a bit of non-stop flirting and she's wishing again that she'd brought something from her selection of vibrators, just to take the edge off. Between the dream and the way he keeps looking her over, she's been as feverish as a teenager, and with no way to get any satisfaction out of it, unless she takes a quite large step she still isn't sure he really wants to take with her. She finds him unreasonably attractive when he's sulking - somehow he's made brooding into an art. She feels like she shouldn't encourage him, but all the same. She's got several ideas on how to coax him out of his funk. She's got lips and tongue and fingers, after all, and that's not even to mention the other possibilities. And speaking of fingers, hers have slid down her body, or at least, the ones that aren't occupied with her breasts. There's more than one way to skin a cat, as the saying goes, although it's not quite apt considering. But it'll do, just like her hands will do: not what she wants, perhaps, but good enough for now. After all, her own hands have always been there for her, even when other hands were not.

The water both helps and hinders her efforts. Her palms slide easily over her breasts and stomach and then catch, the damp skin slightly roughened. She takes it slow, luxuriating in the way the pleasure radiates through her body, and it's lovely, but the water rinses away her own moisture and she can't get purchase on the slick sides of the tub as her back arches and her feet try to brace. It hasn't taken terribly long - she's been keyed up for days, and she's very practiced at what she likes. Her body tightens. The water sloshes around her as she shivers, hot pleasure washing through her, over her, all around her. She collapses back into the water, sending little waves over herself. It's too warm now. She dabs a drop of sweat off her brow with a washcloth.

The door of the outer room opens - she can hear it over the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. "Alex?" Matt says.

She tries to calm her breathing. "In the bath," she calls, sounding more out of breath than she'd like.

"You weren't answering your texts," he says through the washroom door. His voice sounds a little muffled. "Are you all right?"

"Perfectly fine," she tells him. "Sorry - just realized I left my phone in my dressing gown pocket, and I didn't take it down to the pool. I wasn't snubbing you, dear. It just slipped my mind."

"'s all right," he says. "As long as you're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asks, starting to pull herself out of the tub. This is a strange conversation to have while she's naked in the bath. At least she can wrap a towel around herself, and explain away the flush with overheated water or a touch of sun. She dries off a bit and bundles herself up in a towel. It strains a little at the bust, but she thinks it'll hold. She opens the door carefully. Matt is leaning against the jamb. He straightens up a bit, hands in his pockets.

"Was it a good day's work?" she asks, trying for cheerful.

He shrugs. "I think so. We'll see." He takes a step closer and reaches out slowly. She doesn't move as he traces a line across her shoulder. "I suppose I don't have to ask how yours was - look at that tan."

She glances down at the slightly paler line on her skin where her strap rested. "Continuity'll be after me for that one."

"Just let them try," he says in mock-threat, his hand still cupped over her shoulder, and she flashes him a smile. 

"My hero," she says, gently sarcastic. 

"Maybe I will be," he says, tracing the other shoulder, "after I rescue you from Kaz's party tonight."

"Oh, definitely not," she says. "We're going to the party. I'm not leaving you to have all the fun on this holiday."

"Hmm," he says. "I think you've been the one enjoying yourself."

She blushes, hoping he won't notice, given the general rosy, dewy state of her (she hopes it's rosy and dewy rather than red and soggy). "Filming isn't so bad."

"It is when it takes up your whole day," he says. "All I've seen of Spain so far is the highway and a set built to look like something from the American West. Weren't you going to save me some sunshine?"

"I would have thought this would be more than enough to satisfy you," she teases, moving a little so that his fingertips trail off her shoulder and follow the line of her tan down over her collarbone and the swell of her breast to the top of the towel. "Anyway, we can always beg off if it's too much."

"I imagine I'll be doing a lot of begging tonight," he tells her.

"Probably," she says. "After all, there are so many things that could be too much."

"Is that three-nil, Kingston?" he asks, sounding almost as if he needs a bath of his own. All her good work seems to have worn off - she's even more swoony over him than she was before, her body so ready for his touch that she feels a bit achy. 

"Not at all," she says. "That was nul point. It wasn't any good at all as a comeback. I can't accept that kind of generosity."

"Too bad," he murmurs. "And I have so much to give."

She clears her throat. "Two-one."

His eyes gleam. 

"Now run along and see about dinner," she says. "Unless you want to help me pick out what to wear to this secret party."

"Tempting," he says, "but I'd rather be surprised."

"Then shoo," she tells him. "And turn on the light as you go out - it's getting dark in here."

He goes, giving her a look that promises oh, so very much, and she's left alone with her clothes and her towel and her heart beating out his name in lusty rhythm: _Matt Matt Matt_. She sighs and sorts through her things. She'd better put together one hell of an outfit.


	8. 8 March 2012 - Minuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen's secret party.

Alex gets dressed slowly, choosing her clothes with care. It isn't that she's picky so much as that she doesn't want to lose the languid feeling of the bath. Despite the pulse of heat between her legs, she's still feeling relaxed and pleasantly mellowed by the efforts of the day. She picks up her bra and puts it on, carefully weighing each breast in her hand, settling them into the cups until everything is comfortable and the lace is smooth. She steps into her knickers and lets the towel fall. If she spends the next several minutes standing around in her underwear, it certainly isn't because she's hoping Matt will come back. Definitely not. It just takes time to select between the various outfits she's brought with her, considering how few choices she has. She settles on a peasant blouse and a long skirt. She wishes it were warm enough to wear the shorter skirt that only falls to her knees, but she'll save that one for a sunny day - it gets chillier once the sun goes down, and she isn't sure exactly what Karen's party will entail. She slips the longer skirt on and luxuriates in the way the fabric slides against her thighs. It isn't a long step from there to imagine Matt's hands sliding over her thighs, the skirt rumpling up over his lean forearms, his fingers warm and certain. 

Alex shivers. She's got to get herself under control or she'll spend all of dinner mooning at him like a lovestruck teenager, forgetting to eat. She finishes dressing, dabs on a bit of lip balm, and slips on some flats. She glances at herself in the mirror and then leaves her hair loose. Karen and Arthur and Matt are all in the room where they ate breakfast, and there's a roast chicken that smells heavenly and a big bowl of fried potatoes to go with it. 

"This looks fantastic," she says, sitting down.

"It is," Arthur assures her, using a long fork to transfer another piece of chicken to his plate. Alex serves herself - after the swimming and the sunbathing, she's really rather hungry - and sets to.

"How was filming?" she asks.

"Good," Karen says. "Hilarious, actually. They tried to put Matt on a horse."

Matt scowls, sticking his fork into some potatoes with more force than necessary. "I could have done it."

"I think we all remember the Pandorica," Alex tells him, amused. 

"I might have swotted up between then and now," Matt says defensively. 

"Is it actually possible to swot up on horseback riding?" Arthur asks. "I mean, if you aren't actually on the horse? I mean, theory's all well and good, but no substitute for the real thing."

"Funny," Karen tells him, "that's what I hear about your sex life. Not horses. Just its theoretical nature."

Arthur makes a face. Alex tries not to blush. 

"And a point for the fighting Scottish moonface," Matt says, marking a line in the air with his fork.

Karen scowls. "Keep it up, Smithers," she says. "There's still time to uninvite you from my party. Which, I might add, is going to be the premier event that's occurring this evening near our lodgings, so you won't want to miss it."

"Where is this fabled party?" Alex asks. 

"On the beach," Karen says. "After dinner. Wine, women, song - the whole deal. Also men, presumably. And s'mores." 

"S'mores?" Matt asks skeptically.

"Yes, s'mores," Karen says. "The perfect secret party food. Delicious, sticky, and just a little bit dangerous. Someone's bound to burn their tongue or set a marshmallow on fire, or possibly trip over their own enormous feet and fall into the fire trying to roast them." She looks pointedly at Matt, who shovels potatoes into his mouth.

"And where did you get marshmallows?" Arthur asks.

"Brought 'em. Obviously," Karen tells him. "I am a secret party planner extraordinaire. Plus, they're famous for hot chocolate in Spain. Why wouldn't I bring marshmallows?"

"And graham crackers?" Alex asks.

"Biscuits will do," Karen says airily, waving her hand. "What, you lot, don't you trust me?"

"No," they all chorus.

Karen scowls. "Uninvited," she says, pointing to Matt. "Uninvited." That's Arthur. She points at Alex and then wavers. "Still invited, but on notice."

Alex smiles smugly. They're silly games, but she feels pleased about being included in their crowd. 

"Perhaps you should give them a chance," she suggests, winking at Karen. "There's got to be cases of wine about that need carrying. Perhaps we could have these...well, they're not exactly strapping, are they? These young men can carry the wine down to the beach. Perhaps hard labor is the way they can atone for their crimes."

"You are a wise woman," Karen says approvingly. "Hard labor. I love it." She claps her hands. 

"Well, with great age..." Alex says, her voice wry.

"Nonsense," Karen tells her briskly as Matt and Arthur make little noises of disbelief. "You're not old. You're just experienced."

"Yes, I've got plenty of experience handling young men like these," Alex drawls. 

Matt makes a sort of strangled noise. Arthur thumps him on the back, perhaps a bit harder than strictly necessary. Matt glares at him and drinks some water. 

"I think our gangly friend here is prepared to offer you an opportunity to gain even more," Arthur jokes.

"And if he carries his wine right, he might get the chance," Alex says, raising one eyebrow. "The chance to offer, anyway."

"I think he may literally die if you keep this up," Arthur observes, watching Matt choke on his water.

"Then we'd best see to that wine, eh?" Alex says brightly. "Get this party started, as it were."

Karen claps again. "You heard the Kingston. Get to it!"

There are two cases of wine, which seems like more than plenty for the four of them, but it turns out Karen's invited both the guest stars (who are staying in one of the villa's apartments, possibly) and a number of the crew, many of whom have brought a bottle of their own. They build an enormous fire on the beach, large enough to make more s'mores than Karen has marshmallows for, but the marshmallows aren't really the main attraction for most of the guests. The wine flows freely, and the conversation equally as freely. The guest stars are charming, although Alex fears she'll forget their names in the haze of the wine and the crackle of the fire. Besides, they're handsome enough, but not as handsome as Matt somehow. Objectively, that shouldn't be true; objectively, she understands this. Subjectively, she catches Matt's eye across the fire and nearly goes up in flame herself. 

"Excuse me," she says to one of the guest stars - Ben, she thinks, or Burn - and she makes her way around the fire to Matt, who is toasting marshmallows. He looks especially broody, but he slides a marshmallow off a toasting fork and sandwiches it neatly between two biscuits with a piece of chocolate. He hands it to her. Alex takes it with the hand that isn't holding her wine, trying not to touch the molten marshmallow. 

"Thank you," she says. 

"Not a problem," he tells her. 

The chocolate starts to melt and smear against her fingers. She licks at the side of her hand. Matt pulls another marshmallow out of the fire, perfect and golden. He makes himself a s'more and taps it gently against hers. 

"Cheers," he says, looking into her eyes. 

"Salud," she says, and takes a bite. The biscuits are crispy, the marshmallow is gooey on the inside and toasted on the outside, and the chocolate is sticky-soft and intensely flavorful. He makes the hot-food face, breathing in quickly, but hers is just the right temperature.

"Oh, Matt, this is perfect," she says, dabbing at her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Good," he says. "There's one perfect thing I can give you."

"Oh, sweetie, you give me plenty," she says. "This lovely holiday, for a start."

"So you're having a good time?"

"A very good time," she assures him. He gives her a look from under his barely-there eyebrows, and oh, she wants to give him a perfect thing, a perfect moment. She takes another bite of her s'more instead, feeling the heat of the fire wash over her face in flickering waves as the breeze toys with the flames. 

"What about you?" she asks. "Your bit of a busman's holiday. At least it's a change of scene."

"Good so far," he says. "Not exactly what I would have chosen, maybe, but you and me, we're never going to get away from it all properly, are we?"

"Oh, now, anything's possible," she says. 

"Is it?" he asks, and god, he looks ridiculously beautiful with his ridiculous face in the ridiculously dramatic light of the fire, the two of them holding a plastic cup of wine and a s'more each, and the rest of the beach crowded with their reveling coworkers. She isn't sure when that happened, when he became so lovely to her eyes, but there's no denying it. He gazes at her as she nibbles at her s'more, buying time to compose her thoughts as she licks the last bit of chocolate off her fingers. He demolishes his own in three bites and washes the last bite down with a sip of wine, which can't taste very good. She wonders which has left more flavor on his lips, the wine or the chocolate. Her heart thuds at the thought of tasting him. He watches her, and even in the firelight, she can see the hope in his eyes, the questions behind his question. He wants more than this dizzy dance they're doing. Exactly what that might entail, she can't say, but she knows now for certain that he didn't just ask her here for banter and bikini jokes. 

"I think there are definite possibilities," she says at last.

What she wants is to tumble him over, right here on the beach, and kiss him until neither of them can breathe properly, too overwhelmed by desire to spare any thought for breathing. The wine can fall to the sand for all she cares, along with Kazza's precious marshmallows. That's a possibility. And the wide bed upstairs in the room they're sharing - there's a possibility. The bathtub. The terrace. The comfortable sofa. Hell, the table in the dining room has potential, when he's looking at her like this. 

"Oi!" Karen stumbles up. "Matthew. Stop drinking and go to bed, or else Makeup will have an impossible job tomorrow. They told me to tell you that around this time. You're supposed to hydrate as well. Can't have a Doctor with puffy eyes and wine breath."

"Thank you," Matt says, not taking his eyes off Alex. "Thank you so, so, very much. I mean it. Thank you. You are so...helpful."

"Just doin' my job," she says, punching him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm packing Arthur off to bed as well." She turns to Alex. "You staying up?"

"I don't think so," Alex demurs. She yawns dramatically, covering her mouth with her fingers. "Oof. Knackered, me."

Karen turns to the crew. "LAST ONE UP, PUT OUT THE FIRE," she bellows, hands cupped around her mouth. There are assorted shouts and cheers in response.

"You don't have to come up on my account," Matt murmurs as Karen staggers cheerfully off toward the steps. Alex suspects Karen isn't quite as drunk as she's playing it, but then again, she was distracted for a substantial portion of the evening, talking to the various guests while she watched for Matt out of the corner of her eye. Alex might be wrong. 

"On whose account shall I come?" she says lightly. "I think yours will do nicely. Besides, I really am tired - a terribly long day of sunshine, you know. Absolutely exhausting." She finishes her wine and tosses her cup into a handy bin. Matt follows suit. 

"After you, Ms Kingston," he says, and she walks up the stairs toward the villa with his fingers at the small of her back.


	9. 9 March 2012 - Nuit blanche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A resolution of sorts.

Alex can't help leaning back a little against the pressure of Matt's fingertips as she climbs the stairs to the house and then to their room. By the time they get to the room, the palm of his hand is flat against her back, his forearm pressed against her skin. She's amazed he hasn't stumbled into her, honestly. As soon as they're into the room, she turns and presses him against the door, closing it so fast it nearly slams. Her hands aren't clean, but she fists them into his thin sweater anyway, tugging him closer. He wraps his arms around her. She leans against him, gazing into his eyes, the gentle fumes of wine filling the space between them as their breath mingles (still with that hint of chocolate, and god, she wants to melt into him until they're one hot, sticky, inseparable mess).

"What," says Alex, "the _hell_ are we doing?"

"I was hoping you'd have some ideas," Matt murmurs. He's staring down as her as if he's hypnotized, his hazel eyes dark and wide, his lips parted, his hair falling over his forehead.

"I have innumerable ideas about that," she tells him. "And absolutely none about the why."

"The why should be obvious," he says. "I'm not looking for a holiday shag or a one-night stand. I'm mad about you. Absolutely gone on you. I thought you knew that."

She has nothing to say about that, at least not immediately. She looks up into his eyes and he looks back down at her and it's been so, so very long since a man said something like that to her and she believed him. But she does believe Matt. She's seen him put on a hundred different faces, but this one is his. These are his eyes. That's his mouth, so close to hers. She desperately wants to close that gap, to find his lips against hers, as if it's the very first time (or the very last time so far, which was, as she recalls through the dizzy haze of her memories of that scene, excessively excellent). But she's gone too long on her own, and been let down too many times. She can't step over the edge with him without a little reassurance. Wine hasn't given her wings. Chemistry hasn't made her brains fizz out her ears.

"Madness never lasts," she tells him, but she doesn't move away. His fingers brush the back of her hip, stroking slow circles.

"It can," he says. "It will. It has."

"How?" she asks.

"It's all questions tonight," he says. "I thought we might get some answers, you and me."

"God, I want answers," she says. 

He pauses, his fingers stilling for a moment over her hip. "Answers, or _answers_?"

"Both," she says emphatically. "Definitely both. Literal first." 

"There's always been something," he tells her. "On my end. I thought you knew that. Especially after the bit where you writhed around on top of me for the better part of what seemed like forever. But you were still trying with Florian, or at least I thought so."

"Yes," she agrees, trailing her fingers over the skin of his chest that shows through the v-neck of his sweater. "And there was Daisy."

"Ah, Daisy." Matt laughs, just once, and it isn't a particularly happy sound. She feels the vibration of his voice in her fingertips as she traces the last inch or so of his collarbone. "Poor Daisy. She was a lovely girl. I thought I really loved her for a bit."

"And then?" Alex prompts.

He shrugs. She feels his body shift against hers, which has the delightful effect of settling the swell of his cock solidly against her lower belly. "I thought that as a suddenly successful actor that I ought to be shagging models. But it wasn't right. We weren't right. I was a stupid boy. And then I met you, and you were...." He searches for a word. "Magnificent. You were magnificent. You literally bowled me over."

"Your idea," she reminds him.

"Yes, well," he says. "I suppose I always knew what I wanted. Even if I made a mess of things with Daisy. Even if I've made a mess of things now." He sighs and his breath stirs her hair. "I thought I could make a better go of it this time. I can't change the past, but I can change myself. I've grown up. And I thought we might start fresh. No Daisy. No Florian. Just you and me, spending time together, somewhere else besides work. Somewhere else besides Cardiff. Because if I'm wrong, and we're can't ever work, then it won't all be spoiled for you when we go back. New place. New rules. And I really did think a bit of sunshine would be nice."

He stops talking and waits for her response. He's still wearing his own face, and she isn't sure she's ever seen him look so hopeful or so terrified. She wants to smooth the wrinkles from his brow with her lips, which, now that she thinks of it, wouldn't necessarily involve her mouth anywhere near his face. Her body throbs with desire, a pulse of heat that shoots through her and makes her muscles clutch with longing. He isn't perfect. He's young and sometimes he's quite stupid about things and at least once a day he nearly sends himself sprawling, but he's real, and he's here, and he's offering himself up to her, closing her hand over the key to his heart. She thinks if she turned him down, he would still be her friend in the morning. He would still welcome her into their little group. He's definitely grown up since Daisy. She thinks he would handle her heart with kid gloves, tuck it up close to his for safekeeping and guard it fiercely. She is mindful of how near her heart is to his even now, when their bodies are pressed together, when her thighs fit into the gaps of his and he shifts to make room for her. 

"It was a good idea," she says softly. "A very good idea." She leans forward and very deliberately kisses the notch where his collarbones meet, tipping her head to fit under his chin.

"And you, Ms Kingston?" he asks, with a little gasp. "I think I'm due a few answers of my own."

"Fire away," she says, nipping at him gently. "I'm open for questioning."

He groans. "How long have you fancied the pants off me? Ten minutes? Twelve hours?"

"Oh," she says, kissing a little higher. He rests his head back against the door, exposing his throat. She lets her lips drift over his skin. It's quite a bit like her dream, really, only she's the one in control this time. "I'd say since roughly about the time I was writhing around on top of you. Definitely after we filmed that bit on the beach. You do very good whispering in one's ear. No sense of personal space, mind you, but very good whispering."

"Do I now?" he asks, whispering into her ear, of course. His cheek is pressed to hers. She kisses the corner of his jaw and shivers as his lips brush her earlobe. 

"Definitely."

"Anything else I do particularly well?" he asks, his hands moving over her back and sliding down to cup her arse through her skirt. She gets that whole-body ripple of heat again, as if they brought a little of the fire inside with them. Certainly the thought of his potential talents lights a spark in her.

"Many, many things, I'm sure," she says. "Would you like the chance to prove yourself?"

"Oh, yes, _please_ ," he says, and she smirks and jerks her head toward the bed.

"Go on, then."


	10. 9 March 2012 - Tôt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Alex finally make it to bed.

Alex tugs Matt gently away from the door and pulls him close enough for almost-a-kiss, just the barest whisper of contact, a hardly even there brush of her lips against his. She sighs against his mouth and then pushes him toward the bed, walking him backwards as if they're dancing and she's leading. He stumbles, possibly dazed, but he's Matt, so it might just be his natural lack of coordination, which is funny, because she's seen him kick around his football, and he's all grace then. It's possible she just needs to give him something more to concentrate on. Matt kicks off his shoes and sprawls on the bed, but Alex shakes her head, though she also toes off her shoes.

"Sit up," she tells him, and he does, sitting on the edge of the bed and gazing up at her. She nudges her way between his knees, enjoying the press of his thighs against hers. Her palms cups his face. He wraps one arm around her waist. She likes the weight of his arm, the warmth of his arm. She leans down and pauses a breath away from his lips, making him wait and herself along with him. He makes the smallest noise of protest and then finds his patience. She smiles to herself. Her body is yearning for his too; fire licks through her veins and kindles in the bowl of her hips. Her inner muscles clench in anticipation. She can feel how much she wants him, the way her body sways and swells at his touch. Oh, she wants all of him, every single bit of him, the taste and smell and feel and sight and sound of him. And he wants her: he's almost shivering as he sits and waits for her to move. And then she closes the gap between them.

Her mouth brushes his. His lips part against hers. He welcomes her kiss, opening under her. She melts into him, her tongue in his mouth, her hands in his hair. The pulses of heat come now with every thud of her heart. Her bones sear her flesh. The pressure of his arm against her hips anchors her. Otherwise she'd float away on all this hot delight. She can hear herself making urgent little noises, and he answers back. It's a delicious confusion of tongues and teeth and the sweet pressure of lips and the needy suction of greedy mouths and god, she thinks she could come just from kissing him with his knees pressing into her thighs like he's got to hold on and his arm around her hip and his other hand stroking its way up her ribs until his fingers brush the underside of her breast and she gasps. 

They've kissed before, obviously, loads of times, but always with the camera watching. Always with other people watching, and not in a fun way (although she supposes it might feel that way next time, if they're still together, if there is a next time). It's always left her breathless, but never like this. But then, he was never touching her like this before. He was never so ardently, obviously wanting her before. She pushes closer to him, not breaking the kiss. His hands drop down her body and catch at her skirt, pulling it up slowly so that the fabric rumples against her calves, her knees, and finally her thighs. She sneaks a peek. Her skirt balloons out over his lap, the hem resting on his thighs, and he carefully flips it up and slips his arms underneath. His hands find her thighs, caressing the backs from the hollow of her knee nearly up to her arse. She moans in earnest. She wants him to touch her everywhere. She needs him to touch her everywhere. His palms catch a little against her skin. 

"God, your hands," she breathes. "They're so good and so...sticky."

He laughs, soft and sexy. "Yours too," he tells her. "I didn't want to mention."

"Kazza and her s'mores," Alex says ruefully. "Shall we go and wash up?"

"I think it's possible I'm sticky all over," Matt says, hope in his voice. 

"We'll see what we can do about that," Alex murmurs. She steps back reluctantly and offers him one of her sticky hands. "Come on. Up you get." He takes her hand and hauls himself up off the bed, slipping his arms around her waist from the back and burying his face in her hair. They walk in step to the washroom as he nuzzles at the nape of her neck, his sticky hands flattened over her hips, his fingertips brushing the tops of her thighs. Alex turns on the water in one sink, making sure it's warm, and he leans forward with his arms still around her. They wash their hands together, fingers interlacing and then parting, their skin slippery with soap. The weight of Matt's body presses Alex's pelvis into the counter, but it isn't a bad feeling. She relishes the pressure, in fact; she's shifting her hips to rub against Matt's very obvious erection, and the friction works for her as well. The marble might be smooth, but the crumpled fabric of her skirt isn't. Matt nips at her earlobe and makes her gasp. She turns her face into his for a kiss, forgetting that their hands are still under the water until the heat of it starts to make her fingers tingle painfully. She breaks the kiss reluctantly and reaches for the tap. Instead of turning it off, she adds a little cold to the mix, until the temperature is bearable again. 

"Sticky all over, are you?" she asks, picking up a washcloth. "Why don't you take off your shirt?"

He reaches down without a word and strips off his sweater. The sweater falls in a heap on the floor and she looks him over appreciatively as he stands bare-chested in front of her. 

"Very nice," she says. 

"Tit for tat?" he asks slyly.

She smirks. "Not just yet. Good things come to those who wait, Matthew."

"Oh, I think good things will definitely come tonight," he tells her. "Have I told you lately that you're the best thing in my life right now?"

"I thought I might be," she teases. "At least so long as coming is on the menu."

"All the time," he says, sounding serious. 

"Good," she says. "Now hold still." She wets the washcloth under the tap, letting it soak until it's wet through and then wringing it out. She folds it carefully into quarters and lays it over the palm of her hand. The steamy heat of it feels lovely in the evening chill. She reaches out and strokes it down Matt's chest, gently but firmly. His lips part and his stomach tenses visibly. Alex smiles and continues to wash him, rewetting the cloth when it cools, following the path of it with the occasional print of her lips. His skin is warm and damp and smooth, and she can't resist sucking a particularly soft spot on his back shoulder until he gasps and groans just a bit. She scrapes at his skin with her teeth, determined, and then releases him. There's a lovely pink circle where her mouth was. She hopes that Wardrobe doesn't need to strip him any time soon - love bites aren't the easiest to cover, especially ones as vivid as this one is going to be. She slides the washcloth around his neck so that her arm is over his shoulder. He reaches back and holds her to him. Her other hand eases over his side and down, down, down his belly until her fingertips have found the low waistband of his jeans. She scrapes lightly at his skin with her fingernails and he groans and cups her arse in both hands, pulling her hips against his own arse. 

"That seems like it might be more effective if I were in front," she murmurs.

"It's working just fine for me," he says, breathing a little faster as she reaches deeper into his jeans. She drops the washcloth. It hardly seems to matter now. Besides, two hands are better than one at this point. She slips just one fingertip under the elastic of his underwear, tracing the line of it. She's a whisper away from the head of his cock and they both know it, but she purposefully just evades it, touching him, teasing him. His hands clench on her arse and then relax. He reaches higher and finds the waist of her skirt under the thin material of her shirt. 

"Two can play?" she asks as he rucks up her shirt and slides his hands down her skirt, so that this time she can feel the texture of his palms when his hands cup her arse. 

"Too right," he says. His hands slide over her arse and down to the tops of her thighs, easing around her body until his fingers are between her thighs, his wrists pressed against the front of her knickers. She lets her legs spread just a bit, barely enough to facilitate his search as she keeps raking her fingernails over the tender skin of his hips. His thumbs find the upper edge of her knickers and work their way under. She's the one gasping now. She pushes her hips forward instinctively, making it easier for him to start to tug her knickers down. She sinks her teeth into his shoulder again and shimmies her hips as he pulls, until he's groaning and her knickers are just a band of rolled-up lace around her thighs, sliding further every moment until she can step out of them. His palms cup the curls between her thighs and she moans loudly, pressing forward again into his touch until she can feel his fingertips against her folds. Her own fingertips have stilled, barely brushing the head of his cock, which is slick and hot and the perfect answer to all her remaining questions, which are "When?", "Where?", and "How?"

"Back to bed," she orders him, breathless. 

"I'm enjoying the show," he jokes, nodding at the mirror.

"The closet's covered in mirrors, remember?" she says. "You can watch all you want. Bed. Now. Please."

"I thought you'd never ask," he murmurs. He pulls his hands out of her skirt and she takes the opportunity to unbutton his jeans and shove them over his hips. He smirks into the mirror and rocks his knees until his jeans slip off. He shakes his feet free. God, he looks incredible, standing there in just his boxer-briefs, hard for her. He reaches out and skins her shirt over her head; Alex raises her arms to let him. She pushes her skirt off herself, and unhooks her bra, and then she's standing there in nothing but her skin and her hope and her need. 

"Weren't we going to bed?" he asks.

" _Yes_ ," she says.


	11. 9 March 2012 - Tôt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little less conversation, a little more action (please).

Matt holds up his hands. "Look. Clean."

"Yes, I know," she says. 

He gestures at himself. "Clean enough."

"Definitely," she says, stepping closer.

"You?" he asks.

"Absolutely," she tells him. "Although I expect to be quite dirty in a moment."

"Is there anything else that we need to consider before I lay you down on this bed and shag you stupid?" he asks, giving her a look that scorches her from head to toe.

"Condoms?" she asks. "It isn't as if I'm expecting to get pregnant, but it's a much more sensible choice until we get things properly established. And cleaner, as well - I'm not sleeping in sticky sheets all week, and I'm not doing laundry on holiday."

His face falls. He reaches down as if he's going to pat his pockets in forlorn hope and then realizes he's not wearing any trousers. "Ah, fuck," he says.

"Seriously?" she asks. "You invited me on some sort of shag holiday and you didn't bring condoms."

He waves his hands. "I didn't want to seem forward! I mean, I hoped it would be a shag holiday, but I wasn't counting on it or anything."

"Well, this is definitely a step back," she tells him. "Seriously, you don't have a stash? A strapping lad like you? I'm sure you get plenty of offers."

He scowls. "Sometimes. But I don't take them up on it. Usually. After all, I've had my eye on someone for a while." He pauses. "It's you. In case that wasn't obvious."

"Yes, your adorably coy reference wasn't so subtle that I missed it," she says dryly. "But I thought all hopeful young men had caches of rubbers."

"I forgot," he says, his face almost pitiful. "Fuck me. I knew I should have gone to that pharmacie by the pizza place in Béziers. I nearly did."

"We could drive into town now," she says. "But I'm not sure anywhere would be open. Besides which I'm already entirely naked."

He swears at himself again, an entertaining stream of curse words. "Stupid, Smith. Amateur mistake."

"It's a bit sweet," she points out. "That you didn't automatically expect me to fall madly into bed with you. Aside from there only being the one bed. But a bit silly as well."

"Arthur's back in his room, isn't he?" Matt asks, running his hands through his hair until it stands up wildly. "Surely I could ask him."

"Yes, you should definitely trot up to his door in your tiny pants with your massive erection and probably my dressing gown and beg for a condom," Alex says. "That wouldn't be at all entertaining to anyone on set, or be the topic of conversation on everyone's lips all week."

"Shit," Matt says, and collapses onto the bed, going over in a slightly spectacular way and sprawling full-length. "I fucked up massively."

Alex stretches out beside him, admiring the planes of his body and the bulge of his fortunately unflagging erection. "Now, now. Don't be too hard on yourself. It isn't as if that's the only thing we can do." 

He rolls to face her and reaches out to stroke her cheek. "See? I told you. Magnificent."

"Oh, Matthew, if you think that's all there is to sex, I have so much to teach you," she purrs.

"No, no, no," he says hastily. "I panicked, that's all."

She reaches out and trails her fingers over his chest, stroking down toward his belly. "All better now?"

"About to be much better," he says. His hand slips from her cheek to her shoulder and then, inevitably, to her breast, which is absolutely fine with her, except that he's only got one hand to work with. She pushes at him until he rolls onto his back, and then she climbs on top of him, straddling him. She leans down, brushing her lips lightly over his. God, she wants him. She's fairly certain she's going to leave a wet spot on his belly; she's also fairly certain he won't mind at all.

"I think it would be a good idea if you played with my tits," she tells him.

"You are the absolute source of good ideas tonight," he says, raising his hands to cup both of her breasts. He runs his palms over her skin and she shivers, nearly jumping when his thumb catches briefly on her nipple. She leans down to kiss him and he leans up to meet her mouth, his hands caressing her breasts as if he's had years of practice at it. He squeezes just the right amount, rolls her nipples perfectly between his fingers, finds every extra-sensitive spot before she can even breathe a word. Not that she's using too many words: all her thoughts have melted away from the heat of his mouth and the texture of his skin under hers. She shoves her tongue into his mouth and he pushes back just as roughly and she takes every bit of his desire and mirrors it back. They're one continuous loop of need, like a wire twisted together with itself, like that paper ring that goes around and around and there's really only one side to it. 

He breaks the kiss and draws her gently forward until he can pull her nipple into his mouth and fuck, she swears out loud, her head hanging down as if she doesn't have the energy to hold it up. She grips his ribs with her knees. There's space between her thighs and his belly since she moved, but it's worth it. Alex braces herself on one hand and strokes his hair roughly with the other. He teases her nipple with his tongue until she's moaning and shivering, and only then does he let one hand caress her. He starts with her back, reaching up to stroke her from shoulder to arse and down the back of her thighs. It's soothing and arousing all at once, and if she thought she wanted him before, that was nothing to how much she wants him now. Her cunt is throbbing with need; she can feel her pulse in her clit. His hand slips around the front of her thigh and it's all she can do not to twist her hips until his fingers are inside of her. But he just strokes her hip and lets his tongue swirl around her nipple, occasionally changing sides, now and again using his teeth to make her hiss. She wants him. She wants him so badly she can't make words. Three days of flirting and foreplay and she'd probably say anything at this point to get him to do something besides tease her.

"Will you please," she pants, each word slightly separate from the others, "just fuck me?"

"Hmm," he says around her nipple, and lets her breast slide out of his mouth. "Is that what you want, sweetheart?"

"You know it is," she tells him. 

"I like to hear it," he says, his fingers straying from the front of her hip to the crease of her thigh. He traces the thin skin there. 

"I'll tell you as often as you like if you'll just _do_ something," she says. "Your hands are _right there_ and you're driving me mad."

"I accept your offer," he tells her, and leans up for a kiss. She opens her mouth to him as if she can coax him into action with her lips and her tongue, but his fingers move at their own speed, regardless of the way he moans when she sucks at his tongue and his lower lip. He brushes the ball of his thumb over her folds, so lightly that he barely parts them at all, and then slightly more firmly, and then slightly more firmly than that. She moans. When his fingertip brushes her clit, she jumps and gasps. Hot sparks of pleasure shoot through her. She's so aroused she's almost oversensitive already, but she doesn't want him to stop. Every time she bears down a bit, he pulls away just enough to maintain the pressure, so she gives up and surrenders to the ecstasy that jolts through her with every touch. She feels like a meteor shower, her body filled with bright streaks of light that leave her breathless. He teases her until her thighs are trembling, and then, as if by accident, his fingers slip between her folds. She's incredibly, ridiculously wet, and his fingertips slide into her with almost no effort on his part. 

"Christ, Alex," he groans, and thrusts two fingers into her. She moans, her voice rising, and sinks down onto his fingers. He fucks her firmly, quickly. He's still squeezing her breast with the other hand, just the way she likes it, and she nips at his lip. His thumb has slipped off her clit. She pushes back against him until he bends one knee, bracing his hand against his thigh, and she half-shouts at how fucking good it feels to be able to push all the way down onto his fingers, to grind her hips down until her clit is resting firmly against the heel of his hand. She has plenty of leverage now. And she has his fingers, deep inside her, three fingers now, stretching her wide, curling to find the spot that makes her hips jerk and her nerves sizzle. God, he fills her up like sunshine, warming her through, reviving and exhausting all at once, just exactly what her body longed for. Her skin tingles, as if her whole body has been struck with some sort of sexy pins-and-needles, the prickling feeling delicious and unbearable. She pushes back harder and faster, spreading her legs to take him deeper, her back arching. He shifts underneath her, making small adjustments, and she marvels at the way their bodies fit together. She wants him, now and forever, wants the worshipful look on his face and the confident touch of his hands. She wants the pleasure building inside of her, pulling her muscles taut. Her body tenses, tighter and tighter until she can hardly bear it. 

"I told you," she pants between kisses, "I was coming on your account."

"I think you're coming on my hand," he says in a raspy, sexy, half-strained voice. "But you can come all over me if you like."

"I love a challenge," she says, and comes apart. The pins-and-needles feeling slams through her, over her, a searing wave of tingling pleasure. For a moment she can't catch her breath and she doesn't even care. Under her, he makes a sort of strangled moan that she only half-hears. She can feel her muscles clenching and fluttering around his fingers, gripping hard for a fraction of a second and then releasing. She concentrates on breathing, on gasping, on holding herself together, and then she realizes that her legs are shaking too much to hold her up anymore. 

"Oh, fuck me," she says, and collapses on top of him. He laughs and strokes her hair with the hand that isn't caught between their hips.

"Give me a minute," she says, "and then we'll work out what to do about you."

"Take all the time you need, sweetheart," he says. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," she says, still dazed. "Good."

"Very good," he says, kissing her forehead.


	12. 9 March 2012 - Tôt

It's difficult for Alex to remember she wants to move, when her body feels so heavy and warm and sated. Matt kisses her forehead and her cheeks and strokes her hair, murmuring things she can't even really process, which, frankly, doesn't really encourage the moving. Eventually she manages to roll onto her side. 

"That was lovely," she says.

"Not bad for a first effort," he says. "I like to leave room for improvement on subsequent takes."

"Mmm," she says, "I'll take you over and over until we're both satisfied." 

He groans quietly. "Please do."

She leans up, gazing down his body. He's idly stroking the bulge of his erection with his fingertips. It isn't a demanding gesture. He doesn't even seem to notice he's doing it. His eyes are on her, and he turns toward her, as if her body tugs at his. She strokes his chest and belly, delicately. He shivers at her touch. His eyes are half-lidded, drowsy, dreamy, dark with longing but not demanding. He waits without asking anything. He really has grown up, she thinks, if she could leave him now, roll over and sleep, and he would not be angry with her. Frustrated, certainly, but she doesn't think he would be angry. That and his willingness to postpone the release they both desire for other pleasures speaks volumes - she would wager that hasn't always been true in his life. She smiles at him and he smiles back, his expression a little bit smug and a much more than a little affectionate. Well, he ought to be smug. She's still feeling little shocks of pleasure spark through her body. 

"I'll go into town tomorrow," she says. "Surely there's a farmacia. I'll buy out their stock if it comes to that." Her hand drifts lower, her fingers slipping carefully over his. They stroke in tandem for a few moments. His lips part.

"I hope it comes to that," he says.

"At least one box of the extra-sensitives, definitely," she says. "Otherwise, I fear some of the nuance might be lost - my tongue can only do so much."

His fingers jerk under hers and he moans very quietly. "God, Alex."

"I wish I could take you into my mouth right now," she tells him, stroking a little more firmly. "I wish I could taste you."

He moans. "You won't be able to taste much through latex."

"No," she agrees. "But one day, once we're certain about things. Gives you something to look forward to."

"I'm looking forward to _everything_ ," he says.

"Good," she says. She rolls out of bed and he gasps, a small noise of deprivation. 

"Too much for a first date?" he asks.

She laughs, rummaging through the smaller pockets of her case. "No, darling. I just remembered something. The last time I used this, I was at a wedding, and they kept pressing these little sample packets on us at the hen night as some kind of joke...ah!" She holds up a tiny plastic bubble of lube. "There we are. That'll suit my purposes."

"I think I like your purposes," he says.

"I'm certain you do," she tells him, grinning. She stands up and climbs back into bed, acutely aware of the way her inner thighs slide against each other, still slick. "Now be a good boy and pop those pants off."

He obligingly pushes his pants down his thighs, which is good enough for her. She slides up next to him and rips off the top of the lube packet, squeezing the contents into her palm. She draws careful designs, dragging out the process, gazing into his eyes. She sees him swallow hard. Oh, yes, she's enjoying this very much. He reaches out and touches her jaw, just barely brushing her cheek. There's something else in his face, more than the desperate need she's fueling.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Alex..." he says. "If you don't want to...I don't have any expectations. If you want to tonight but tomorrow you don't want to, I mean, it's all right. It doesn't have to be a shag holiday. You matter to me a lot more than just sex."

"Well, I very much want to right now," she tells him. "But I certainly appreciate the sentiment." She leans down on one elbow and trails her fingertips over the head of his cock, which is standing firm in defiance of his words. He swallows again. She traces the vein from head to base, all the way down his shaft, leaving a glossy trail of lube. 

"As for the shag holiday," she says, still dragging her fingers lightly over his hot silky skin, "I'm very glad I came along. For a lot of reasons, of which the sex is only one, and probably not the biggest. I like being your friend as well as your bedmate. Anyway, I don't think I'll stop shagging you at least until I've had the full experience, so there's one more day, and if I get completely sick of you, I'll take the car home and leave you to Kaz's gentle interrogations." She smiles at him and closes her fingers around his cock, which fits very nicely in the circle of her fist. She slides her hand slowly up and down his shaft, thumbing the head of his cock. "How does that sound?"

"Perfect," he gasps.

"Now lie back and think of England," she teases.

"I can't think of anything," he says, interrupting himself in the middle with a little moan. "There's just you." He gazes up at her, and she's never seen such worship in somebody's eyes. She tightens her fingers gently around him and he groans. 

"You're very sweet during sex," she says, pumping her fist a little faster and then slower again, just to see how he reacts. His hips lift slightly against her wrist.

"What did you expect?" he gasps.

"Oh, Mister Too Cool For Any Of This," she teases him. "Mister Love 'Em and Leave 'Em Wanting More. Mind you, I do want more."

"Me too," he manages to say, then moans again. "Christ, you're good at this."

"I've lead a very rich fantasy life," she says lightly. "As you must have - you seem to know me very well."

"Lot of time on my hands," he says. "Between takes, especially." He winks at her.

"There," she tells him, "I knew your brains hadn't completely dissolved. Let's see what I can do about that." She moves her hand faster; he groans and his back arches. He's thrusting into her fist now, moving against her strokes. He feels incredible in her hand: hot and hard and smooth. She feels her cunt throb - god, she wants to just climb on top of him and feel him sink into her, deeper and deeper until her hips grind down against his. She wants to take him into her mouth, licking from head to root until he fills her up. She wants to feel him everywhere. She wants the weight of his body on top of her, the length of his skin against hers. She wants to stretch out and feel him against her from toe to forehead and everywhere in between. She wants his fingers in her, his tongue, his cock. With her free hand, she lifts his hand from where it lies on his belly, and she presses his gently flexing fingers to her lips. She lets her lips part until the tips of his middle and ring fingers slide into her mouth, past her teeth. He groans, deep and rough, and his cock twitches in her hand. She sucks at his fingers, tasting the salt on his skin, rolling her tongue into the space between his fingers. 

"Fuck," he gasps, and she hums around his fingers. "Alex, god, Alex, I don't know if I can..."

She hums again, an encouraging sound, looking into his eyes. She hadn't even realized her eyes had closed, but apparently the bliss of his skin against her tongue was too much. She can feel the pulse in the vein of his cock. His hips are tensing underneath her wrist. She sucks harder at his fingers, holding her fist steady as he thrusts into it. She wants to see him come. She wants to be the cause of it. She wants to be with him for every second of his pleasure. A sudden fierce possessiveness spreads through her and she swirls her tongue firmly around his fingers, challenging him with her eyes. He gasps and her body throbs, as if they're connected now. He thrusts faster into her slick palm and his body stiffens against hers and she wants this, nearly as much as he does, wants his release, wants his climax. She wants to see him soar. She wants to feel him come back to earth and land in the circle of her arms. She moans around his fingers, overcome with need, and his body jerks and he says something incomprehensible. He doesn't close his eyes: she sees every second of his pleasure, and she sees his joy that it's her. He comes all over his stomach in a warm white spatter, and she sucks once more at his fingers and lets them slip from her mouth. 

He breathes hard, his eyes still locked on hers. Release hasn't diminished the desire in his gaze. Christ, she could crawl up the bed right now and offer him her cunt to taste and she's sure he'd do it, that he'd roll over and bury his face between her thighs with little noises of satisfaction and pleasure. It's a dangerously tempting thought, but it's already late, and he needs to sleep. She climbs out of bed before she can give in and finds the washcloth on the counter in the bathroom. She wrings it out and dampens it again with warm water, taking it back out to Matt. He holds out his hand and she gives it to him. He wipes his stomach clean with a sigh and pulls his pants back up. He stands up on legs that wobble as Alex finds herself a washcloth and cleans up a bit - she's still so, so wet for him, but there will be other opportunities. Matt drops both of their washcloths in the tub.

"Tomorrow," he says. "I'll pick them up tomorrow." He holds out his hand. "Bed?"

"Bed," Alex agrees, letting him lead her back into the bedroom. She tugs on a spare pair of knickers and crawls into bed beside him. He slips an arm around her and sighs happily. Alex snuggles closer. Finally, she has most of his skin against hers. They're both still warm enough that she's certain they'll be sweaty in a bit, but it's a lovely feeling nonetheless. Matt bends his head to kiss her lingeringly. The brush of his tongue against hers is still electric, no matter how sleepy she suddenly is.

"I'm a lucky boy," he says.

"Yes, you are," she agrees. "And even luckier tomorrow, if you play your cards right."

"I don't think it gets luckier than this," he says with a yawn, and she would answer him, except that she's already half-asleep, and all she can do is murmur something that sounds much more like love and much less like luck.


	13. 9 March 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex makes some careful selections and visits the set.

Alex wakes up at the buzz of Matt's alarm and rolls over against the solid length of him. He leans toward her without opening his eyes and kisses her. She can feel him smiling against her mouth.

"This is a much nicer wake-up call than I usually get," he says. 

"I agree," she says. "Although possibly I can think of a nicer way still."

He groans quietly. "Don't tease, Kingston. Some of us have to be on camera all day."

She slides a hand down his hip to caress his thigh. "Losing focus, Mister Smith?"

"No," he says. "Just redirecting to worthier causes."

She chuckles. "And what would Moffat say about that?"

"'Good on you', probably," Matt says wryly. "And then he'd give me that terrifying look and tell me not to fuck up his show."

Alex laughs. "Good on you, eh?"

"You're quite the catch," Matt tells her. "And very distracting."

"Am I," Alex says, letting her fingers trail over his skin.

"Yes," Matt says firmly, shivering a little as her fingertips brush his cock. "I need a shower. Care to join me?"

Alex snuggles into the pillows. "The very nice thing about being on holiday is that I get to sleep as late as I like, and it just so happens that someone kept me up last night."

He sighs and kisses her, rolling himself out of bed. "Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your lie-in."

She smiles. "I'd tell you to wake me for breakfast, but I'm not sure I want to go down there with huge guess-who-got-shagged hair. Or moderately huge, anyway." "Ah," Matt says lightly. "Don't want to be seen with me with guess-who-got-shagged hair?" "Absolutely not," Alex tells him, reaching up to caress his cheek. "It's only that my ears can't take Scottish pipes so early in the morning."

"Then I suppose you'll have to shower with me tomorrow morning," he teases, bending over the bed to kiss her again. "Because I'm planning to make your hair absolutely enormous, and you know they'll pout if you don't eat with us at least a few times."

"Well," she says. "You do know what to say to a girl. Who could turn down an offer like that?"

"Oh, shut up," he says, sounding pleased and kissing her. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart."

"I'll see you later," she says. "Maybe I'll come out to the set after I run through town."

"You should," he says. "I'll be absolute rubbish for work the moment I see you, but you should come."

"We'll see how long my errands take. I have quite a few things to buy," she says suggestively, and he kisses her again and sighs.

"I don't want to get up," he says, "but I have to go now or I won't go at all."

"I'm not going anywhere," she says. "Figuratively."

"That's good to hear," he says.

He kisses her one last time and disappears into the bathroom. She hears the water turn on, a soothing patter. Steam drifts gently out of the bathroom. Alex tucks the covers around herself. She barely registers it when Matt leaves, though he bends over her and murmurs sweet nothings. When she wakes up again, the room is bright. She showers, dresses, and walks down to the kitchen. There's still coffee, so she pours herself a cup with plenty of milk, and there are rolls in the breadbox, so she has breakfast looking out over the ocean. It's strange being alone in the house, but also nice; she rarely has so much time to herself. It's freeing to slip on her sunglasses and slide into the car. She doesn't even bother looking up directions on her phone, just drives until she finds what she's looking for. She lingers over the selection, finally taking a couple of sampler packs and an extra box of extra-sensitives. Variety is never a bad thing. The cashier smiles at her and she grins, only blushing a little bit, mostly in anticipation.

She does look up directions for the drive out to the set, and her phone quietly talks her through it as she wends her way through the town out to the desert. It's funny to see the clusters of buildings suddenly rising up out of the sandy flats, their facades standing tall and nothing behind them. She parks in the muddle of vehicles and makes her way onto the set. It's tempting to tuck a condom or two into her purse, just in case Matt has a spare moment, but she leaves them in the car. She knows better than to throw him off his game that way in the middle of a day of shooting and besides, anticipation is pleasurable all on its own. Security lets her through easily - they don't even look surprised to see her. Perhaps they were at Karen's bonfire. She nods to them and walks across the empty, dusty streets. She ought to be wearing her Utah outfit here. River and her six-shooter would fit right in.

She waits quietly out of sight when she gets to the actual filming. She isn't here to distract anyone. The rest of them are working, after all, and she knows how difficult it all is to sustain everything for take after take. At least it isn't terribly hot, but she isn't wearing the Doctor's greatcoat either. Matt fills it out much better than she would. She watches him swagger up and down the street, someone other than himself, someone impossibly old and young all at once. Yes, he was a good choice, the right choice, and she's grateful for it every time they call her back for another episode. She can't imagine River quite so passionate about any other face. She can't imagine herself enjoying kissing anyone else quite so much. She smirks, thinking of kissing him for the cameras now, after everything and nothing has changed, and the director cuts the scene, and Matt looks up and sees her. The expression on his face goes from cheerful to lustful to reasonably flirtatious in the space of about two seconds. He makes a pistol of his fingers and pretends to shoot her. She glances over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow at him, as if he's missed. He shrugs and saunters toward her.

"Hello," he says to her. "Finished your errands?"

"For now," she says. "After all, we can always restock if we need to." 

His eyes are wide and dark, focused on her. She thinks that every fiber of his being is focused on her, and she feels the same. Even though he's a foot or more away, she would swear she can sense the contours of his body under his costume. God, she wants to touch him. She wants to ease him out of that costume piece by piece, wrap herself around him, and touch him until they're both out of their minds with ecstasy. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Karen and Arthur lope up to them, so Alex restrains herself.

"None of you look like you enjoyed yourselves enough at my party," Karen says, slinging an arm around Alex's shoulders.

"I enjoyed myself quite a bit, thank you," Alex tells her.

"Hmm," Karen says, glancing between Alex and Matt. "Quite a bit may not be the same as enough."

"Ease up, Kaz," Arthur says. "You aren't actually in charge of everyone's lives, you know."

Karen squints at him threateningly. "What was that, Darvill?"

"You are absolutely in charge of everyone's lives and all shall love you and despair," Arthur rattles off, sounding very practiced. "God, take off the Pond. We're not even filming."

Karen giggles. "Sorry." She turns back to Alex. "Are you staying?"

"For a bit," Alex says. "I don't want to interfere. And I thought I'd write a few postcards - it's always nice to have mail."

"Definitely," Arthur says. "All I ever come home to are bills and trash."

"Maybe I'll dash off a few lines for you, then," Alex says. "It can't be difficult to find a post office."

"Well, whatever you do, we're having dinner together, all right?" Karen says. "We missed you at breakfast."

"I'll be up tomorrow," Alex promises, forcing herself not to look at Matt.

"I'll come in and wake you up if you're not," Karen threatens.

Alex holds up her hands, palms out in surrender. "I'll be there!" 

"Ah, don't want me in your room, then?" Karen asks, smirking. "Afraid of what I might see?"

Alex tries not to blush. Matt steps gently on Karen's foot. "Ah, Kazza, you know you could never handle the sight of my dirty pants on the floor. I forgot my laundry bag again."

"You would," Karen says. "Good thing Alex puts up with you. I never would."

Matt sniffs. "I have my charms."

Alex smiles. "At least he doesn't snore."

"They're calling us back," Arthur says. 

Matt catches Alex's eye. "I'll stay for a while," she says. He lets the very corner of his mouth turn up, a secret smile meant only for her. She stays for an hour or so, watching. It's both delightful and deadly dull, watching them work- she hasn't got any part of her own to play, and she hasn't read the script, and the way they shoot bits of the scenes out of order makes it hard to get involved. But she enjoys watching them all, of course. They've gotten so good at being these people over the years. Still, it's less entertaining when she's not in the story with them. After their next scene, she blows kisses their way and takes her leave. She makes her phone tell her where a post office is and drives just a little bit too fast through the desert, listening to Spanish radio. She slows down once she gets to town, slipping through the streets. Alex buys postcards for her daughter, her sisters, Jenn, and Arthur, and spends a nice span of time in a coffee shop sipping a latté and eating a sandwich and scrawling messages. She promises to bring her daughter over sometime; she hints to Jenn and her sister about certain developments; she writes a silly message to Arthur calling him "Dad". 

After she's posted everything, she texts Karen. _Finishing up?_

 _Not yet,_ Karen texts back. _Hours still. Go buy yourself something pretty to wear._

 _A nice dinner then?_ Alex sends.

 _No, just thought you might want something extra-special ;)_ Karen texts.

"Oh, go climb a tree," Alex says aloud, half-irritated and half-pleased, and texts back _Hah._

On the other hand, shopping does seem like a nice idea. Alex smiles to herself. It would be a night to remember either way - she might as well mark the occasion. She gathers up her things and shoulders her handbag. Oh, yes, it's time she treated herself. And Matt, of course - she hopes he likes lace.


	14. 9 March 2012 - Soir

Alex isn't paying much attention during dinner. She couldn't even say where the restaurant is in relation to anything else in town - all she did was follow the instructions from the maps on her phone. It's some sort of seafood restaurant, which is logical, as they're near the ocean, and the food is quite good, and so is the wine. She isn't even sure what she ordered, really. Something light, without too much garlic. She noticed Matt chose something light as well. Alex smiles into her wine and rubs her calves together under the table. She's certainly enjoying the smooth feel of her legs under her long dress in the stockings she bought, and the way the chemise slides over her skin when she moves. She's going to have to wear ridiculously indulgent lingerie under her clothes much more often. It's simply too delicious.

"You're fidgety tonight," Karen says to Matt.

"Am not," he says, pouring himself more wine. "You've got an overactive imagination."

"I'm not imagining it," Karen tells him, pointing her fork at him. "Darvill. Tell him I'm not imagining it."

"I'm staying out of this," Arthur says. "Alex, how was your day?"

"Very peaceful, thanks," she tells him, smiling. "You?"

"Oh, well, just ordinary, yeah," he says.

"Why are you fidgety, though?" Karen presses, leaning toward Matt. "You ought to be as knackered as the rest of us."

"I'm better at hiding it, that's all," Matt says.

"I don't know," Karen says. "I think we're keeping you from something."

"Leave off," Arthur says. "If something happens that anybody wants you to know about it, I'm sure anybody will tell you."

"Good," Karen says. "Anybody'd better, if anybody knows what's good for him. Otherwise, thumbscrews."

"She hasn't got thumbscrews," Arthur reassures them.

"Handcuffs," Karen says, waving her fork. "Tickle torture. Salt in your wine."

"Goodness," Alex says, topping up Karen's glass. "You're certainly very dedicated to this anybody and what he might or might not be doing."

"I'm sure I can order thumbscrews," Karen says. "You can get anything on the internet."

"Have cake and calm down," Arthur says.

They have cake all around. Alex tries not to eat hers conspicuously - it's such a cliché, after all - but she can't help catching Matt's eyes from time to time, and she knows that she slows down as if it's some sort of arthouse film about pastry consumption. She knows she licks the frosting from the fork tines a little too sensually. He watches her, his eyes dark and expressive. Alex presses her knees together. She can feel the heat building between her thighs. She can feel the way the hold-up bits on the insides of her stockings cling to her skin. She can feel the way the silk glides over her breasts. The sort of hunger that has nothing to do with cake courses through her veins, sweeter than the frosting, sweeter than the dessert wine she sips, so sweet that she aches with it. Her inner muscles clutch around nothing, longing for pressure.

"I for one am exhausted," Arthur says, tossing down his napkin. "Alex, can we have a ride home? Or I can text the driver, if you've had too much wine."

"Not a problem," Alex tells him, glad that she stashed the condoms in the glove compartment of the car. "I'm fine. Can't speak for the Scot."

"Oi, Moonface," Arthur says, watching Karen scrape the frosting off the last bite of his cake. "Keep to your own plate."

"I've annexed you," Karen tells him. "This cake is now under Scottish jurisdiction."

"Yeah, it's time to get her back," Matt says. "I'm not carrying her again." He brushes his fingers against Alex's knee under the table as he reaches for the wine and pours out the last drops into his glass. She tries not to shiver. God, she wants him. She feels like she can't wait another minute. He's been occupied all day with work at least; she's spent most of her hours thinking of him and all the things she'd like to do with him. 

They pay and pile into the car. Matt and Arthur squeeze into the back seat, letting Karen have the front. Matt leans forward and reaches around the side of the seat, touching Alex's hip. She tingles all over. It's a struggle not to speed back to the villa so that she can fling him into bed immediately. Instead, she drives carefully and slowly, enjoying the way his hand drifts down her thigh when she shifts. She's careful to stay a few steps behind when they arrive, claiming that she has shopping to retrieve, and she does, after all. She slips the condoms into one of her other bags and floats into the house, yawning widely. 

"I don't know about you lot," she says, "but this old woman is going to bed."

"Night," Arthur says, and Karen scoffs.

"Old nothing," she says. "But fine, fine, swan off upstairs. Sweet dreams." She winks exaggeratedly. 

"It's best if you don't dignify it with a response," Arthur says.

"Good night," Alex says, carrying her bags up the stairs. Matt's nowhere to be found when she gets to the bedroom, so she takes a moment to freshen up and remove the outer layers of what she's wearing, until she's down to the pink chemise and the stockings. They're nice stockings despite the lack of suspenders, with a seam up the back and lacy tops. She's sure she ought to be wearing heels with them for the look of it is all, but she can't possibly be bothered. She fluffs out her hair, dabs on a touch of perfume, and takes a deep breath. And then she hears the door open.

"Given how much she's been pushing us together, you'd think she'd be happier about it when we actually seem to want time alone," Matt says as he walks in, and then he stops in his tracks. "Is it my birthday?"

"Stop it," Alex says, blushing a bit.

Matt prowls around her, taking her in from every angle. "It can't be my birthday quite yet, but it certainly feels like it."

"That's enough talking from you," she says. "Surely we can find better uses for your mouth tonight."

"Let's start now," he says, and leans in and kisses her fiercely. Alex opens her mouth immediately to his, sucking hard at his lower lip. His tongue brushes hers and she pushes back against it with her own, as if she can make up for the fact that he isn't inside her right this minute. Matt wraps his arms around her and pulls her against him. Her body molds to his. She feels the swell of his erection against her hip and slides against it. He groans into her mouth.

"Touch me," she says when she can speak, and his hands are immediately on her shoulders, sliding down to her breasts, her hips, her thighs. His fingers explore the lacy tops of her stockings; she can tell she's piqued his interest by the way he nips at her mouth. And finally, finally, his hand slides between her legs and he groans again. She groans too as his fingertips slip under the lace of her knickers. She can feel how slick she is against his skin. He rests his forehead against hers, swaying a little against her. 

"Bed," she says. 

"Genius," he tells her, and bends suddenly to hook his arm behind her knees. She squeaks in surprise as he carries her the few steps to the bed. 

"You're no use to me if you throw your back out with romantic gestures," she chides him, but she can't hide how pleased she is as he lays her down. 

"A man does what he has to do," he tells her, straightening up and then bending back over to kiss her deeply. "Now, Ms Kingston, where's the rest of your shopping?"

"The blue bag," she tells him, and he retrieves the boxes of condoms, whistling to himself.

"Quite the selection," he tells her, one eyebrow raised.

"It's good to have choices," she says. 

He picks one out and holds it up for her approval. It doesn't appear to be anything with a flavor, so she nods. He starts to strip off his shirt, but she stops him.

"I was looking forward to that," she says. She kneels on the bed and he comes closer, letting her peel him out of his clothes piece by piece. She drops kisses over his stomach and down his hip and strokes his back. He gasps as she sucks at the skin above the waist of his jeans. But she wants him too much tonight to take it very slowly, so even as she rakes his skin with her teeth, she's undoing the button of his jeans and tugging down the zip. He gasps again as she lets him go. 

"Off," she commands, and he shucks off the jeans as quick as he can, stumbling out of them and his pants. She takes a long moment to gaze at his body. He's unselfconscious in his skin, focused mostly on her, and she revels in the lean lines of him and the way his cock stands out proud and firm in testament to his desire.

"Gorgeous," she murmurs.

"That's my line," he tells her. 

"You can say it too," she says with a smile. 

"I'm sure I'll say it over and over," he tells her. 

"Only one of us is naked," she points out.

"Well, that won't do," he says. "A shame, given how much I like the outfit." But he has the chemise off her in moments, and then he's kneeling in front of her, rolling her stockings down and kissing her knees. He parts her legs gently, kissing up her inner thigh and hooks his thumbs under her knickers. She braces herself on her hands and lifts her hips until he can slip the knickers off. And then he's naked and she's naked and she's almost shivering with desire in the cool air of the room. She would swear that she can see the heat rising off his skin too, like a mirage on a sunny day. 

He holds up the packet of the condom wordlessly and she nods. He rips open the foil, carefully, and rolls the latex down over his cock. She crooks a finger, inviting him closer, and he puts one knee on the bed. She draws him closer, pulling him down for a kiss, and then pulling him down entirely on top of her, just to feel his weight. Her body cradles his. They fit together without a gap, skin on skin everywhere, until she can hardly breathe for how good it feels, how delicious it is to have him bare against her. His hands are everywhere, stroking her skin, caressing her until she moans, and she can't stop touching him either. 

"I want you everywhere," she says, dazed.

"How do you want me?" he asks.

"I don't care," she says, and oh, she doesn't, she's drunk off just this.

"I want it to be good for you," he tells her, low and urgent. "Alex. I want it to be good. Tell me what you need."

"Roll over," she says, and he's on his back before she can blink. She straddles his narrow hips, balancing over his stomach. He slides his fingers between her legs again, spreading her slickness along her folds. His fingertips find her clit and she gasps and has to catch herself on her hands, her wrists sinking into the pillows on either side of his head. He strokes her, teases her, his fingers slipping from her entrance to her clit and back again until she's panting and trembling. 

"Now," she says, easing herself backwards, and he holds himself steady as she settles down on top of him. He slides easily into her and she moans. He waits, stroking her hip, as she adjusts to the feel of him inside her, the pressure and the pleasure. 

"Good?" he says.

"Very good," she assures him. He reaches up and strokes her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers until she hums with pleasure. 

"I very much like the view," he tells her.

"Good," she says. "You'll be seeing a lot of it." She bends forward to kiss him. Her breasts are heavy in his hands, but he knows exactly how to cup them. She lifts her hips just a bit and then settles back down onto him, biting her lip at how good it feels. God, it's like he was made for her. He hits every spot she knows she has, and a few she's not yet discovered. 

"More of that," he gasps.

"So much more," she assures him, sitting up enough that she can ride him more easily. She rises and sinks over him, balanced carefully over his hips, and they moan in concert. He reaches up to touch her breasts, her hips, her stomach, her clit, and she bears down on him. It won't last long, she thinks, but long enough; she's been waiting as long as he has, and she's just as close as he must be. She can feel the ridges on the condom rubbing against all the right places inside her, and his cock is hot and hard and a dream come true. She clenches her muscles around him and the pleasure gets even sweeter. Her body tenses. He's touching her everywhere, she thinks in a haze, he's the whole universe around her. She rides him even harder, grinding down against him as his trembling fingers seek her clit. 

"Oh, _Matt_ ," she says, desperate.

"Yes," he tells her, and she comes, her body shuddering. She topples forward again, almost not catching herself this time. Her hair falls around both of their faces as she rides out her orgasm, shaking and shivering over her. He makes a choking sort of gasp and bucks up into her, his hands holding her hips, and she relishes every stroke. Aftershocks of pleasure ripple through her and he fucks her through them, beyond them, into some sort of heightened state; she thinks she could come again from the way his breath brushes her face as he pants. He groans, a long aching note of bliss, and comes, his body jolting underneath hers. She lets herself collapse on his chest until they've both caught their breaths a bit, and then she lifts her leg over his hip and lets his cock slide out of her, a little regretfully. They sprawl over the bed. His hand reaches out, his fingers twining through hers. 

"Let's do it again," he says, and she laughs. 

"Not even you could recover that quickly," she says. "Personally, I think I'm going to be a bit sore in the morning."

"Are you all right?" he asks, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Of course I am," she tells him. "I just haven't been quite so...vigorous in a while. It'll be a very pleasant soreness." At the worried look on his face, she smiles. "And it certainly won't dissuade me from doing this again and again until I'm absolutely used to it. It's a bit like going to the gym, you know."

He looks dubious at this. "But it was good."

"It was _amazing_ ," she assures him. "Everything I wanted and more."

"Good," he says, his eyelids drooping. 

"Come on," she says, tapping him on the hip. "Let's go and clean up before you fall asleep on me."

"Falling asleep on you sounds fantastic," he mumbles. "Will you wear the pink thing?"

"Of course," she tells him, and leads him to the bathroom. 

He manages to tug on pyjama pants as she slips the chemise back over her head. "Gorgeous," he tells her.

"See, I said you'd get to say it," she reminds him. He sits on the edge of the bed and throws his arms around her waist, pulling her down on top of him. She hauls the duvet over the both of them and lies contentedly in his arms. 

"I'll say it again," he mumbles. "When I'm awake."

"Sleep," she says, kissing him softly. His only reply is soft, even breathing. Alex curls against his chest, making sure that she isn't lying too heavily on his arm, and lets her eyes close. She smiles to herself. Not what she expected from this trip, certainly, but bliss all the same. She won't question that.


	15. 10 March 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt asks Alex on a date. A proper date.

Alex wakes up in Matt's arms; he's wrapped around her like a very attractive limpet. She stretches in his embrace. He twitches and then stretches too. She feels his breath stir her hair as he yawns. She smiles to herself and cuddles back against him, turning her face toward him for a fairly chaste kiss. His lips linger sweetly against hers. If she weren't lying down, she's sure her knees would be jelly and she'd swoon right into his arms.

"Will you go out with me?" he asks.

She laughs. "And good morning to you."

He huffs out a breath. "God, I sound thirteen. What I meant was, will you go on a proper date with me? Tonight? I dragged you along on this shag holiday and we haven't even been out."

"We have," she says. "Weren't we out last night?"

"With chaperones," he says. "I want to have dinner with you. Just you." The look on his face is sweeter than three sugars in her tea.

"All right," she says. "Of course."

"I just want to be alone with you," he says. "And not shag. I mean, obviously, I want to shag you. But other things, too. Civilized things."

"That sounds lovely," she says. He looks so terribly earnest. She can't imagine why he would think she wouldn't want to have dinner with him. She isn't afraid of photographers. She's done much more scandalous things than have a meal with a coworker in public. If she doesn't keep it strictly within the limits of propriety, well. She's got a reputation to uphold, and who could blame her?

Matt kisses her bare shoulder. She is deliciously aware of the way his hips press against her arse. He's got more than a bit of a situation happening. She reaches one lazy arm to the nightstand and pulls the box of condoms closer. He strokes her breasts and her belly and kisses the nape of her neck, nuzzling her hair aside. She doesn't even bother to try to hold in her stomach, the way she has with other lovers. Matt seems to enjoy the soft swell of it and the curves of her thighs. He shifts slightly to fit his body even more tightly against hers and runs his hands all over her until she thinks she'll crawl right out of her skin with wanting him. His fingers slide between her thighs and she gasps, relishing the way his fingers explore the slickness of her folds. If it's possible, she's even more turned on by how turned on she is for him, by the heat that radiates from her cunt, by the moisture that lets his fingertips glide across her sensitive skin. The power he has over her body is incredible; he reminds her of how astounding life is, how astounding love is, and especially how astounding sex is. She's half in love with him for that alone.

"Beautiful," he murmurs. "I could get used to waking up like this."

"That sounds lovely," she tells him. 

"I'll call the set," he says. "Tell them I'm sick. Surely they can go on without me for a day."

"Surely they can't, Doctor," she chides. She pulls a condom out of the box and tucks it into his hand.

"I like the way you think," he tells her. 

"I like the way you feel," she tells him, turning over to face him. She hears the foil rip and the slick sound of the condom slipping out. Matt rolls it on and leans forward slightly to kiss her. She kisses him back, snuggling closer to him. He slides his hand slowly down her side and over the back of her thigh, coaxing her leg over his hip. She shifts until he can slide inside her. They both make quiet noises of satisfaction. His fingers slip down to draw slow circles around her clit.

"Best wakeup call I've ever had," he says. 

"So glad I could make your morning easier," she teases, squirming against his fingers.

"Much easier," he jokes back. "You hardly took any convincing."

"And aren't you a lucky boy?" she says. She's already breathing faster. 

"The luckiest," he agrees, moving slowly and sweetly inside her. She drifts along with him, her hands running down his back over and over, as if she's hypnotized by the steady rhythm. It's soft, dreamy, intimate sex, the kind that makes the edges of things hazy. The sunrise glow of the room sets a perfect mood. When Matt slips out of her, she makes a noise of protest, but he says something comforting and slides down the bed. He kisses her breasts, lipping at her nipples and rubbing the faint stubble of his cheeks gently over her skin. His hand is still between her thighs, always circling. She arches her back, which has the happy effect of pushing her breast further into his mouth and her hips more firmly against his fingers.

"Hmm?" she says, because it's the only question she can manage.

"I wanted it to last," he murmurs against her skin.

"It's all right," she says, kissing the top of his head. She's close enough and besides, she could use a visit to the loo - morning sex always has its pros and cons. "I've got the whole day to myself, remember."

"Are you going to use it thinking of me?" he asks, easing back up her body. 

"Of course," she tells him. "Absolutely hours."

He groans. "Christ, Alex, I'll be useless at work now."

"And then we'll go out to dinner and afterwards you'll be extremely useful," she tells him as he guides himself back into her. "Just focus on the lines. Don't think of me sprawled in this bed, touching myself, thinking of you."

He almost whimpers, thrusting into her. She braces herself against him and digs her nails lightly into the muscles of his back and his arse. She loves the feel of him inside her. He fills her up just the way she likes, just the way she always hoped he would (in her very, very wildest and most secret dreams). He doesn't take long to tense against her and groan into the hollow of her collarbone. Alex doesn't mind - her body feels warm and alive, relaxed and aroused at the same time.

"Sorry," he says. 

"Don't be, darling," she tells him. 

He pulls out of her with a sigh and peels the condom off carefully. "Come and shower with me. I'll make it up to you."

"Probably a good idea if we've got to have breakfast with Karen and Arthur," she says. "Although I fear there's nothing I can do with this hair."

"Your hair looks amazing," he tells her, kissing her. 

"You're very sweet," she tells him. "Shall I see you in there?"

"Definitely," he says. 

Alex rolls out of bed, stripping off her chemise and not bothering with a dressing gown, and twists on the water to give it time to warm up. She visits the loo and looks at herself in the mirror as she washes her hands and quickly cleans her teeth. Her hair is completely enormous. She finds a hair tie and ties it back - at least then the fluffiness looks somewhat intentional. Alex steps into the shower and lets the water wash over her. She cleans her face, listening to Matt rattle around in the bathroom, and then the shower door opens. 

"Come here often?" he jokes.

"Not as often as I'd like," she says. 

He washes himself off quickly and then crooks a finger, as if she has anywhere else to go in the shower. She steps closer to him. 

"I told you I'd make it up to you," he says.

"Nothing to make up," she tells him. "I'm not keeping score."

"I am," he says. "I want you to win." His fingers slide between her legs again, and she moans. 

"Show me," he says, and she covers his hands with hers, guiding him as he touches her. He turns his back to the spray of the shower and she buries her face against his shoulder, and his skin is so hot and wet and sleek she feels as if she could melt into him. His fingers are longer than hers; they find places she can't reach on her own, and his other hand cups the back of her head, holding her close. He kisses the top of her head as his fingers thrust into her and he thumbs her clit. She raises her face to his, almost helpless with need, and he kisses her deeply, his tongue in her mouth and his fingers in her cunt and the length of his body pressed against hers and she's gone. Gone, gone, gasping into his mouth, her arms thrown around him as if he's her only anchor. He untangles his fingers gently from her hair and reaches behind himself to turn off the water. She breathes gulps of the humid air. 

"Better?" he asks, sounding very satisfied with himself.

"Amazing," she says. "But I promise, it doesn't have to happen every time. I'm not just here to tally up orgasms."

"I know," he says. "That's why I'm extra-grateful that you oblige me." He kisses her again. "It's so generous of you to indulge my total need to make you come over and over for me. What did I do to deserve such kindness?"

"I think you know very well," she says. 

He opens the shower door and reaches for towels for them both. It's a close fit, but they manage to dry off. 

"Breakfast?" he says.

"We ought to put on more than towels, I imagine," she tells him. 

He scoffs. "Surely breakfast can be casual." But he pulls on jeans and a t-shirt - he'll only be changing again when he gets to the set, she knows - and she finds something appropriate to the sunny weather.

"Have we got a cover story?" she asks.

He pauses. "Do we need one?"

She shrugs, and after a moment, so does he.

"Improvise," he says with a wink.


	16. 10 March 2012 - Matin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast with the coworkers.

Alex sends Matt down first, once they're dressed. Arthur and Karen might have their suspicions, but this is a plausible alibi of sorts. She wants to put on a bit of makeup, anyway, and if there's any sort of interrogation, he might as well face it. It's his shag holiday, after all. She does her eyes and brushes on a touch of blush and blows a kiss at the mirror. She's still got that just-been-shagged glow, and her hair, even pulled up, is more than a bit massive, but it'll have to do. She walks down the stairs. Arthur's pouring her coffee as she sits down at the table.

"Mornin'." Karen yawns broadly, hiding her mouth behind her hand and motioning at the coffee pot. Arthur hands it to her.

"Morning," Alex says. She sounds disgustingly cheery even to herself, but then, morning sex always does that to her. She tries to rein it in a bit as she reaches for a roll. "Ready for a long day?"

"They're all long days," Arthur says. "Somehow."

"At least you're not the Doctor," Matt says.

"True," Arthur says, clapping Matt on the shoulder. "You poor sod."

"How old do you think this house is?" Karen asks. "Because it seems quite old in some ways. Haunted ways." She sips at her coffee, warming her hands around the mug.

"It's not old," Arthur says, rolling his eyes. "Or haunted."

"Ghosties and ghoulies under your bed?" Alex teases. "Skeletons in your closet keeping you up with the rattling?"

"It's mostly the creakin' and groanin'," Karen says, raising one eyebrow. "All night, so much creakin' and groanin'."

Matt coughs through his bite of bread. Arthur sighs. "Kaz..." he says.

"Hardly slept a wink," Karen says. "Haunted."

Arthur turns to Alex. "So...big plans for the day?"

"Thought I'd do a bit of touristing," Alex says, reassuring herself that the heat in her cheeks is just steam rising from her coffee. "I saw a lovely cathedral yesterday. And there's the Alhambra, of course. I'm sure I'll manage to fill the time while you lot are tripping over things and having your makeup touched up."

"Sadly accurate," Arthur says, shaking his head. "At least where these two are concerned. Some of us are professionals."

Alex pats his hand. "We can't all have done RADA, after all."

"And here we go," Matt mutters, shooting Alex a secret soft warm look that makes her sit back in her chair because she needs the support.

"Back to the groanin'," Karen says briskly. "At it like rabbits, are you?"

Alex looks at Matt. He gazes back at her, and just a hint of a smile touches the corners of his mouth. "Yes," she says, still looking at him. "I'm afraid so."

"Inevitable," says Arthur. "I mean, we all saw the kissing. All that kissing. You didn't really need all those takes."

"You sound like Kazza," Matt says.

"I think it was my bonfire," Karen says with satisfaction. "Either way, well done, or whatever. Just keep the groanin' to a minimum. Some of us need our sleep."

"The moon doesn't sleep," Arthur says. Karen glares at him. 

"Start with the moon face again, I dare you," she challenges him.

"It's not so bad, Kaz," Matt says. "At least you control the tides, eh?"

"Boys," Karen says, rolling her eyes and looking at Alex. Alex shakes her head sympathetically. 

"Never changes, I'm afraid," she tells Karen. 

"Bah," Karen says. "You're supposed to give me hope. Advise me, like."

Alex shrugs and smiles. "I'm afraid you're barking up quite the wrong tree. Although things are looking up lately, I suppose."

"Rule number one: no sappiness before noon," Karen says, pulling a laughable face. "Darvill's got a delicate stomach for it."

"Whatever," Matt says. 

"We'll try," Alex says, reaching for Matt's hand under the table and squeezing.

"Rule number two: I get to make up rules whenever I want," Karen tries.

"We'll see," Alex says. "Now stop directing other people's lives and eat up - you'll be starving by the time they get around to remembering to feed you lunch."

"Ugh, fine," Karen says, doing a very good impression of a teenager. Alex misses her daughter suddenly. Perhaps she'll arrange a time to call tomorrow. Perhaps even a few minutes today, if she can. She's been a bit distracted. 

The rest of breakfast proceeds without incident, except that Alex is still holding Matt's hand under the table. The way his thumb rubs gently over her knuckles makes her want to drag him back to bed, but she sends him off to work with a brief kiss.

"Dinner?" he asks.

"Dinner," she promises. "Go. Make art."

"I'll do m'best, dear," he says in the Doctor's voice, and she winks at him.


	17. 10 March 2012 - Soir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Matt go out to dinner, sans chaperones.

It's not the easiest thing Alex has ever done to pull herself together enough to talk to her daughter after breakfast, but it's a nice conversation, if extremely short. She's delighted to get through, and her daughter seems delighted to talk to her, or rather, interrogate her. At least Alex can talk about how nice Spain is, even if she ends up redirecting questions about her castmates because she can't stop blushing. Hopefully it isn't terribly visible over their Skype connection. Later, she's sure, if this lasts, she'll have to answer plenty of questions and probably listen to quite a number of excited squeals, but today isn't that day. 

(She hopes it lasts. What they've got here and now is perfect and magical and intoxicating and she believes every sweet word she says, but holiday rules apply. She hopes he stays mad about her, now that Things have happened between them, but she's learned not to count her chickens, and she's certainly not going to tell her daughter about theoretical chickens.)

She needs a distraction. Alex grabs the keys and her purse (with a few condoms in a safe pocket, just in case) and sets out to experience as many historical sites as she can bear. Almeria is a lovely town, with lovely sights, and Alex enjoys her day of tourism. Still, what's she's longing for is Matt. She can't stop thinking about his hands and his skin and oh, every part of his body. She catches a glimpse of herself in a shop window: flushed cheeks and parted lips. 

"Pull yourself together," she tells herself firmly, but even ice cream after her long lunch can't cool her down much. She'd have to apply it strategically, which is a very bad idea in the first place, and then Matt would probably have to lick it off, and that has her hot all over again. She thinks about going back to the villa for a nap, but she knows she wouldn't sleep. She loves her own hands, but today she wants Matt's. She has a coffee instead, and then another. She tries to read - she's finally getting around to _The English Patient_ , after too many associations for too long - but the prose is too gorgeous. Even the sentences that aren't meant to be sensual seem to get under her skin. She shifts in her chair, daydreaming about the way that Matt's hands feel sliding down over her hips. She thinks of filming the episode with the Angels, crashing into him over and over, sparks flying for both of them apparently. And here she'd thought herself alone in feeling a little frisson at each table read, feeling her heart thud as every scene with a bit of kissing was called. The thought of him longing for her is so delicious that it's all she can do to keep herself from touching her throat and her wrists and the nape of her neck, every tender socially-acceptable bit of herself.

Between the caffeine and the anticipation, she nearly jumps out of her skin when his text finally comes through.

_All done. Still on for dinner? xx_

_Shall I come pick you up?_ she texts back.

 _I don't think we'd make it to dinner_ , he messages back. 

Alex catches her breath. There's probably some sort of clause in the rental contract, or else she'd go and get him right now and fuck him stupid in the passenger seat. If they ever go anywhere again, she's getting a sedan, a minivan - anything with a big back seat. A repurposed hearse would suit her fine, if it came to that. Plenty of room. 

_Kaz says I need a bath :(_ , he texts, while she's still recovering her wits. If he's trying to convince her that she doesn't need to come back to the villa, he's going about it entirely the wrong way. _Meet me by the train station at 8? Driver says he knows a place._

 _Definitely_ , Alex texts back.

She has almost two hours to kill. She spends them muddling through her book, hardly even noticing the words on the page. She's too wrapped up in her own story to pay attention to anyone else's. But eventually, after a bottle of water, a number of pages, and a quick trip to the loo to freshen her lipstick, she's driving to the station. She's hungry and over-caffeinated, and she nearly gets lost because she's so distracted by the thought of seeing Matt. And then there's Matt, lounging against the car. She parks behind them and climbs out. Matt leans in and kisses her on the cheek. She can tell he's trying not to linger - paparazzi aren't quite as common here, but they're not absent, either. It may be dark, but it's never dark enough to keep all their secrets. 

"He wrote the directions on a napkin," Matt says. "It was all I could find. Lucky I put one in my pocket."

"At least it wasn't a page of your script," Alex teases. "Which, inevitably, you would have left somewhere. Why didn't you just put them into your phone?"

"I honestly couldn't say," Matt tells her. "Anyway, I haven't ripped it yet, which means we should probably go and find the restaurant before something happens."

"An adventure!" Alex says. "How delicious."

Matt squints at her. "Was that the River voice? I heard River. Don't get me wrong - dating River Song would be amazing - but I thought I was out with Alex."

"I'm hungry," Alex says by way of excuse. "Seems like the proper attitude to take. Much better than fretting about actually being able to find the restaurant or any number of other things."

"Fair point," Matt says. 

"On the other hand," Alex tells him, "if that happens, there's always takeaway and back to the room, so really, there's absolutely no way this evening can end badly." 

"I love the way you think," Matt says, peering at the signs. "But I think we're here."

The restaurant is a hole in the wall: hardly any lights, candles on the tiny tables, one bored old man in a weathered sport coat serving. There's no menu, just a chalkboard that lists a steak option, a seafood option, and a salad. 

"Narrows it down," Alex murmurs. 

"Meanwhile, we'll have plenty of choices later," Matt promises. She nudges her toes against his under the table, but at that point, the waiter comes by. They both get paella and Matt orders a carafe of white wine. The paella comes with plenty of seafood and slices of crusty bread to soak up the broth. The wine is perfectly chilled and perfectly delicious. All of it is good, but Alex hardly tastes it. She's gazing at Matt and the way the candlelight caresses his face. His brow and his cheekbones are in sharp relief, but he's still the loveliest thing she's seen in years and years. Alex uses her fork to pull a last mussel from its shell, popping it into her mouth.

"Mm," she says. "We ought to come here more often."

"Definitely," he says. "Definitely. This is the way the seaside ought to be. Warm. Wine. Spanish, possibly Italian."

"As if I couldn't wear the bikini in Cardiff," Alex says. "Although I might need to be thawed out after."

"You're smiling," Matt says.

"Am I?" She pushes her foot against his again. "Perhaps I'm happy."

"Are you?" he asks, pushing his hair off his forehead. 

"Delighted," she says. "A good dinner with a handsome man, a holiday in Spain - what could be better?"

"Good," he says, smiling himself as he sips his wine. "I want you to be happy. I mean, I want to do things that help you be happy. Not 'I want you to be happy' like 'you have to be happy'. I like to think I'm not quite that kind of asshole. I don't want you to ever feel like I'm pressuring you into anything. God, I'm wittering."

"Not at all," Alex says, feeling her smile widen and warm. "I appreciate it." She puts down her fork and picks up her napkin, blotting her lips and wiping her fingers. She reaches for his hand. His fingers are warm in hers. She traces each of his fingers with the tip of her index finger. "I like that you don't push. It's refreshing." 

"And here I thought you liked it when I pushed," Matt teases, raising one eyebrow. 

"Oh, very much," Alex assures him. "As I'm sure you'll see later tonight." She can't help biting her lip at the thought. Matt's eyes widen and darken. He turns her hand over in his and kisses her fingertips lightly. His fingers draw circles on the back of her hand, the friction of his skin simultaneously soothing and arousing.

"What I wanted to say," he tells her, his voice as drowsy and hypnotic as his caresses, "is that I want us to do whatever makes you happy. And whatever makes you comfortable. I don't want to stop being your friend just because we're doing this."

"I like this," Alex tells him. "I like this very much." She gazes at his mouth. "And you and I will always be friends, whatever happens with this. A fling, a thing, forever, whatever: you and I are friends. I promise you that."

"Only if it makes you happy," Matt says. His voice is husky and serious. "Promise me that, sweetheart."

"I do," she says. "I promise." 

He cups her hand in his and traces the lines of her palm. "If it isn't the same after we leave, I'll understand."

"Well, the paella was fantastic and I'm not sure anything else can ever measure up," she teases him. "I'm not letting you go that easily. After all, I'm your ride home."

"After we leave Spain," he tells her. "When we get back to normal life."

"I know, darling," she says tenderly. He's still holding her hand as if it's some sort of fragile, perfect thing. He's gazing into her palm as if he can read the mysteries of her heart, or maybe divine her future, see if her lifeline twists around his. "It's been magical."

"It definitely has," he says. "Best on-location ever."

"I think we can take some of the magic with us, if that's what we want," she tells him. "And it doesn't do anybody any good to agonize over something that still works." She raises her hand to cup his cheek. "Matthew. Would you like to take me home?"

"Desperately," he says. 

"Good," she tells him, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "That makes me happy."

His face lights up and her heart feels like a wineglass singing.


	18. 10 March 2012 - Soir

Matt's hand is on Alex's thigh as she drives them back to the villa. He isn't even being terribly cheeky about it - his hand doesn't slowly slide higher and higher under the hem of her dress, and his fingers don't curve slowly toward her inner thigh. It isn't actually under the fabric of her dress, really, just resting half on the hem of her dress where the fabric pulled up as she situated herself in the car. But the gentle warmth of his skin, the subtle pressure of his fingers: she's breathless. She shifts and feels the muscles in her leg flex under his touch. It nearly undoes her, even though he doesn't even squeeze. It's just the fact that he's touching her, that her body is moving, that he feels the movement of her body, that his hand doesn't withdraw.

The car is full of the smell of his cologne. She's sure it wasn't that strong when they got in. His temperature must be rising the way hers is. She keeps taking deep breaths (when she can breathe at all past the desire that's taking up all the space inside her skin) and holding the scent of it in her lungs. That much of him can be inside her, slipping sweetly into her bloodstream. He's talking about his day on the set and she's leaning into the sound of his voice, barely enough attention on the road. When they get back to the villa, it's a near thing that they make it out of the car at all. She turns off the ignition, leans back, and thinks very seriously about kissing him. On the other hand, she's absolutely certain that if she touches him, even just to brush her fingertips over the perfect arch of his cheekbone, she will end up shagging him stupid right there in the car, and that's silly when there's a perfectly good bed. She's too old to be dealing with a gearshift up her arse and tomorrow morning's crick in her neck. 

"Inside," she says. 

His mouth crooks up in a smile. "Right now?"

"Inside the house, you daft man," she tells him, sliding his hand off her thigh. 

"Not even going to demand the bedroom?" he asks, unbuckling his seat belt. "How very daring, Ms Kingston. I hope Darvill doesn't need a midnight snack."

"Shut up," she says. "I'd have you right here if I wouldn't regret it in the morning."

"Would you now?" he asks, his face falling a bit. 

"Have you, yes," she says impatiently. "Regret it only because I'm sure I'd have twinges in all the right places to remind me I'm much too old to be shagging tall men in small cars. Not," she pokes him in the chest, "regretting the shagging. Or you. Only the aches."

"Then I suppose I'd better carry you tenderly up to bed," he says, the smile sneaking over his face again. 

She snorts. "Let's just walk. You haven't swept me quite that far off my feet."

"Gives me something to work toward," he teases. "Race you to bed."

They clatter through the house and up the stairs, cackling like teenagers. She's breathless again by the time they make it to the bedroom, desire and exertion flushing her cheeks and stealing the air from her lungs. They tumble through the door and she pushes him against the wall and kicks the door closed with one sandaled foot. For a moment she just rests against him, their chests heaving unevenly against each other. His eyes are dark green like a fairytale forest, a place a girl could get lost in, lush and warm and full of promises, dark glades and sunlit clearings.

He murmurs her name, the L smooth, the X catching in his throat. They are pressed together from chest to knees; she feels the way each letter vibrates through his breastbone. She breathes in and out, just once, filling her lungs with him and then letting the scent and the taste of him spill back out into the universe. She reaches up, pushes his hair tenderly out of his eyes, slips her hand around the back of his head, and pulls him down for a kiss. She feels the shock of his lips meeting hers all the way down to the soles of her feet. 

What was the line from the episode in Berlin? A state of temporal grace, that's it. It wasn't even her line, but that's how she feels. This holiday, this warm coastal desert town, this man with his arms around her and his tongue sliding against hers, yes: they exist, together, in temporal grace as time looks the other way. It's barely even spring and she's summer all over. She can smell the salt of their sweat as their bodies catch and return each other's heat, amplifying every sensation. She can feel her own slickness as she grinds slowly and gently against the swell of his erection. He nudges against her, hitting a sweet spot, and she gasps and shivers in his arms, pressing her face against his neck. He kisses her hair while she pulls herself back together, and then nuzzles down until he can press his lips to hers.

"I'm all yours," he whispers into her mouth, and she catches his hand and draws him over toward the bed. 

He undoes the zip of her dress, dragging his fingertips over the bare skin of her back. She undoes the button of his jeans, slipping her fingers under the elastic of his boxer-briefs. He skims his t-shirt over his head and wriggles out of his jeans as she slips her dress off her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. She undoes her bra, gazing at him, and he gazes back at her even as he steps forward to cup her breasts in his hands. Her mouth opens against his, and the world is reduced to the wet heat of the way their bodies join. His palms are very slightly rough against her skin as he gently squeezes her breasts, running his thumbs over her nipples until she would swear his touch could strike sparks from her skin. 

She kisses him until she cannot kiss him anymore, until she is saturated by the touch of his lips, desire wafting from her pores. She kisses him until the thought of her body separate from his for even another second is painful. She needs him so much her body aches and throbs with it. She reaches for a condom as he slides down her body, tugging her underwear down and nipping at her thigh. She drags him up again so that she can peel off his boxer-briefs and roll the condom on over his lovely firm cock. And with that sorted, she simply can't wait. 

She pushes him gently back against the bed, until the mattress presses into the backs of his thighs, and she hitches her leg over his hip, pressing her foot into the bed for balance as he slides into her. He groans and buries his face in her collarbone, sucking helplessly at her skin. She knows they'll have to change positions soon, but for the moment, it's perfect. She wraps her arms around his neck and tilts her face into his for a kiss, moaning as he thrusts slowly into her. She steps firmly onto the bed, which makes her thigh tense and tightens her inner muscles around him. They both gasp. He thrusts into her bit faster and she grinds her hips against his. It's precarious, this position; they have to move against each other in exquisite counterbalance, an equal and opposite reaction for every action. His fingers find her clit and she nearly topples him onto the bed, arching into the friction of his fingertips, but he pushes back, filling her up. Pleasure shoots through her, tensing every one of her muscles until she shivers against him. 

She wants too much of him. Her hands are all over him: her nails raking down his back, her fingers squeezing his arse, in his hair, cupped over his shoulders, pulling him closer. His hand sweeps over her as the fingers of his other hand stroke and tease. She wobbles as he uses just the right amount of pressure and her knees go weak.

"I can't," she gasps. 

He kisses her firmly as he slips out of her, to soften the pang of longing, she thinks. He pulls a pillow over and sits down on the bed, legs stretched out, motioning her onto his lap. She settles carefully over him, her legs bracketing his hips, her feet flat on the bed, leaning back as he guides himself back into her. 

"Oh," she says involuntarily. 

"Welcome back," he says, smiling at her. He rocks up into her and she moans, her back arching, which makes it oh so very easy for his lips to drop to her breasts. His fingers find her clit again, as easily as if he's known the secrets of her body for years. And she is so full of him, so consumed by him. She grinds down against him, pleasure making her blood so sweet that it prickles in her veins. The head of his cock nudges insistently inside her, pressing up as he thrusts, until he hits a particular spot and she moans so loudly she startles herself. He half-growls, his lips still around her nipple, and thrusts up harder as his fingers move faster against her clit. She braces herself with a hand on his thigh, clutching at him, the clenching of his muscles the only thing keeping her grounded. She could float away on this hot drift of ecstasy. She could be consumed by this fire.

Somehow he keeps hitting the same spot over and over, until she is nearly sobbing with pleasure. She squeezes her inner muscles around him, wanting more and more contact, and he swears vividly, rapturously into her cleavage. She leans forward and tips up his chin, desperate to kiss him, desperate for his tongue in her mouth and his teeth clicking against hers, needy and ravenous. He thrusts and she cries out, swept away. His fingers press firmly against her clit and then slip away, leaving her hips canted roughly against his. Her body blazes; she's half-certain her hair sparks with heat; and the fire of it consumes her completely and leaves her reborn in the circle of his arm. 

He slows, pulling back until he can look into her eyes, but she leans down to kiss him again, coaxing him to lose himself in her. He thrusts up fiercely, firmly, and she spreads herself as wide as she can to accommodate him, digging her nails into his back as pleasure shocks through her. His body tenses under hers, every muscle drawn tight in tandem, and then he says her name in a hoarse, earnest voice and lets go. His pupils are enormous as he looks up at her, containing infinities, and there are stars in his eyes. She hopes she is reflecting the light in them back to him, an unbroken mirror of adoration. He leans his forehead against her collarbone and pants, then tugs her over. They collapse together onto the bed, bodies still locked together, limbs tangled. He slips slowly out of her, his face registering the loss of contact as a pang of regret. She can feel the same slight furrow in her brow. 

He peels off the condom and throws it away, then comes back to her. He presses his forehead and his knees to hers, their bodies making a diamond on the bed. She slides her foot between his calves and closes her eyes, smiling. She can feel her face smoothing out. He's not inside her, but he's next to her. That's nearly as good. He reaches for her hands and pulls them to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

"I must have done something very good in a past life," she murmurs.

"A past life? Sweetheart, you're practically an angel in this one," he tells her. He pauses. "Except in bed. Which is frankly fucking fantastic."

"You and your sweet nothings," she says. 

"You ought to hear more of them," he says. "I'm going to tell you at least one splendid thing about yourself a day."

"At that point, I'll hope there are lots of filming delays," she teases.

"I'll drag my feet," he promises, and groans. "We'd better clean up before we fall asleep."

"Wouldn't want to wake up sticky," she agrees, rolling away from him with an effort. 

"One day we're going to do this on a day with no work and no deadlines," he promises, still sprawled out on the bed and gazing at her with those gorgeous eyes. He has one hand under his cheek and the other on the plane of his stomach, and she would have him again right this moment. 

"Delicious," she says. "Now come and wash up. Tomorrow isn't exactly the day for a lie-in, and I don't want the blame for circles under your eyes."

He yawns. "You first. I'll be up in a moment." And surprisingly enough, he isn't asleep by the time she comes out of the bathroom. He eases himself out of bed and disappears behind the closed door. Alex hears the water running as she cuddles under the covers; she's dozing as he slips in behind her, his body curling around hers. She hums quietly. He kisses her neck and laces his fingers through hers. 

"Gorgeous," he murmurs, and she falls asleep smiling.


End file.
